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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.
We will answer all things faithfully. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
We will answer all things faithfully. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, read more
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. -The Tempest. Act iv. Sc. 1.
For ever and a day. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
For ever and a day. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
He will give the devil his due. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
He will give the devil his due. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set read more
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 1.
Patch grief with proverbs. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.
Patch grief with proverbs. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. Sc. 1.
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.
A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.
A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.
