O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of read more

O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing read more

Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. read more

Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 1.

Men of few words are the best men. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Men of few words are the best men. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Voltaire and Shakespeare! He was all
The other feigned to be.
The flippant Frenchman speaks: I weep;
read more

Voltaire and Shakespeare! He was all
The other feigned to be.
The flippant Frenchman speaks: I weep;
And Shakespeare weeps with me.

A rascally yea-forsooth knave. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

A rascally yea-forsooth knave. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 2.

'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in read more

'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. -King Henry VIII. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie. -The Tempest. Act v. Sc. 1.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie. -The Tempest. Act v. Sc. 1.