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A man can die but once. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.
A man can die but once. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Truth is truth To the end of reckoning. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
Truth is truth To the end of reckoning. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in read more
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him half his Troy was burnt. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 1.
It was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing to make it too read more
It was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing to make it too common. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
