Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there 's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 1.
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
'T is well said again, And 't is a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are read more
'T is well said again, And 't is a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.
O, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping. -As You read more
O, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
And now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. -King Henry IV. read more
And now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.
And give to dust that is a little gilt More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. read more
And give to dust that is a little gilt More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.
This earth that bears thee dead Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. read more
This earth that bears thee dead Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.
He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it read more
He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.
'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful read more
'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.
