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.

My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient. -The read more

My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

His nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. read more

His nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 3.

I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.

For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
read more

For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue; even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manner brightly shine
In his well-turned and true-filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender read more

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

More matter for a May morning. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

More matter for a May morning. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.