Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. read more

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 3.

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

As cold as any stone. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 3.

As cold as any stone. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 3.

He was ever precise in promise-keeping. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 2.

He was ever precise in promise-keeping. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 2.

There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth;… and there is salmons in read more

There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth;… and there is salmons in both. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 7.

Voltaire and Shakespeare! He was all
The other feigned to be.
The flippant Frenchman speaks: I weep;
read more

Voltaire and Shakespeare! He was all
The other feigned to be.
The flippant Frenchman speaks: I weep;
And Shakespeare weeps with me.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, read more

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act read more

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.