The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. -All 's Well that Ends Well. read more

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Press not a falling man too far! -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Press not a falling man too far! -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Good orators, when they are out, they will spit. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Good orators, when they are out, they will spit. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. -King Richard III. Act i. read more

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 3.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act read more

A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being read more

They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

Still you keep o' the windy side of the law. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Still you keep o' the windy side of the law. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

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.