Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her read more

Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

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.

Service is no heritage. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.

Service is no heritage. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 3.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. read more

Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.

This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers…. There is divinity in odd numbers, either read more

This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers…. There is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act v. Sc. 1.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes read more

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

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.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 5.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act iv. Sc. 5.