That in the captain 's but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. -Measure for Measure. Act read more

That in the captain 's but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.

O, call back yesterday, bid time return! -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

O, call back yesterday, bid time return! -King Richard II. 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.

There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old. -King Henry read more

There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

He is of a very melancholy disposition. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

He is of a very melancholy disposition. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act i. Sc. 1.

But man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he 's most assured, His glassy read more

But man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he 's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he read more

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never
plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a
thousand.

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.

In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. read more

In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.