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If I say that Shakespeare is the greatest of intellects, I have
said all concerning him. But there is read more
If I say that Shakespeare is the greatest of intellects, I have
said all concerning him. But there is more in Shakespeare's
intellect than we have yet seen. It is what I call an
unconscious intellect; there is more virtue in it that he himself
is aware of.
These blessed candles of the night. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
These blessed candles of the night. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. -King Henry IV. read more
It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 2.
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.
O, good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for read more
O, good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 3.
One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act read more
One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more
When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.
