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.

Condemned into everlasting redemption. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Condemned into everlasting redemption. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 2.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 2.

We 'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have. -As You Like It. Act read more

We 'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 3.

Are you good men and true? -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

Are you good men and true? -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

The boy hath sold him a bargain,—a goose. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.

The boy hath sold him a bargain,—a goose. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.

I was now a coward on instinct. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

I was now a coward on instinct. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

I 'll tickle your catastrophe. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

I 'll tickle your catastrophe. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

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.