Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

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.

A high hope for a low heaven. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

A high hope for a low heaven. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. read more

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. read more

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war. -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 2.

That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war. -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock read more

Thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. -King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2.

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can read more

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear! -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.