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I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the read more
I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal! -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. read more
O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal! -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.
The common curse of mankind,—folly and ignorance. -Troilus and Cressida. Act ii. Sc. 3.
The common curse of mankind,—folly and ignorance. -Troilus and Cressida. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.
Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.
Who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. read more
Who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.
I could have better spared a better man. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.
I could have better spared a better man. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree. -The Merchant of read more
The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can read more
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear! -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.
