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The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation. -King Henry VI. Part II. read more
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation. -King Henry VI. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 3.
True is it that we have seen better days. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
True is it that we have seen better days. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 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.
These most brisk and giddy-paced times. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
These most brisk and giddy-paced times. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. -Coriolanus. Act iv. Sc. 5.
A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. -Coriolanus. Act iv. Sc. 5.
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.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.
