I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste read more

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come. -Troilus and Cressida. Act i. Sc. 3.

The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come. -Troilus and Cressida. Act i. 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.

It is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation read more

It is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

Comparisons are odorous. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Comparisons are odorous. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Let it serve for table-talk. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Let it serve for table-talk. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender read more

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. read more

Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.