How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign read more

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy! -King Henry VI. Part III. Act i. Sc. 2.

If we wish to know the force of human genius we should read
Shakespeare. If we wish to see read more

If we wish to know the force of human genius we should read
Shakespeare. If we wish to see the insignificance of human
learning we may study his commentators.

Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch; Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; Between two blades, which read more

Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch; Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; Between two blades, which bears the better temper; Between two horses, which doth bear him best; Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,— I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment; But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. -King Henry VI. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. -King Henry IV. Part read more

I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

-Falstaff.

-Falstaff.

I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I. When I was at home I was in a better read more

Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I. When I was at home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 4.

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.

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful read more

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.