You May Also Like / View all maxioms
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,— Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act read more
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,— Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act v. 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.
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. -King Richard III. Act iv. Sc. 3.
Now my soul hath elbow-room. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.
Now my soul hath elbow-room. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en; In brief, sir, study what you most affect. -The Taming of the read more
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en; In brief, sir, study what you most affect. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act i. Sc. 1.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king. -King Richard read more
Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Young in limbs, in judgment old. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Young in limbs, in judgment old. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Flat burglary as ever was committed. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Flat burglary as ever was committed. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.
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.
