How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his read more

Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. read more

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act i. Sc. 1.

It is a wise father that knows his own child. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

It is a wise father that knows his own child. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Let the world slide. -The Taming of the Shrew. Induc. Sc. 1.

Let the world slide. -The Taming of the Shrew. Induc. Sc. 1.

'T is a cruelty To load a falling man. -King Henry VIII. Act v. Sc. 3.

'T is a cruelty To load a falling man. -King Henry VIII. Act v. Sc. 3.

Convey, the wise it call. Steal! foh! a fico for the phrase! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. read more

Convey, the wise it call. Steal! foh! a fico for the phrase! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. -A Midsummer Night's read more

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.

The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds read more

The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.