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    'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.

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  4  /  7  

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. read more

Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home; He was perfumed like a read more

Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home; He was perfumed like a milliner, And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose and took 't away again. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.

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  12  /  12  

Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves. -The Merchant of Venice. Act read more

Ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

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O father Abram! what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect The thoughts of others! -The Merchant read more

O father Abram! what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect The thoughts of others! -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

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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.

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  6  /  7  

And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as read more

And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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A deal of skimble-skamble stuff. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A deal of skimble-skamble stuff. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

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  12  /  9  

All the world 's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their read more

All the world 's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard; Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

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From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, read more

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.

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