Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act read more

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king! -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A parlous boy. -King Richard III. Act ii. Sc. 4.

A parlous boy. -King Richard III. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, read more

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. -The Tempest. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Answer me in one word. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Answer me in one word. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame, And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. -King John. Act read more

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame, And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.

For when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend? -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. read more

For when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend? -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act ii. Sc. read more

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Good orators, when they are out, they will spit. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Good orators, when they are out, they will spit. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

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.