Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. -The Tempest. Act iv. Sc. 1.
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The little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
The little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
The ripest fruit first falls. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
The ripest fruit first falls. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. -King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Order gave each thing view. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
Order gave each thing view. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won? -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. read more
Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won? -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 2.
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.
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 1.
My library Was dukedom large enough. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
My library Was dukedom large enough. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
I have a kind of alacrity in sinking. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.
I have a kind of alacrity in sinking. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.
