They say we are Almost as like as eggs. -The Winter's Tale. Act i. Sc. 2.

They say we are Almost as like as eggs. -The Winter's Tale. Act i. Sc. 2.

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That in a spleen read more

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That in a spleen unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say, Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 1.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.

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

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

Let us make an honourable retreat. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Let us make an honourable retreat. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The fashion wears out more apparel than the man. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

The fashion wears out more apparel than the man. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act read more

He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.

Full bravely hast thou fleshed Thy maiden sword. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.

Full bravely hast thou fleshed Thy maiden sword. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.