William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Reflection is the business of man; a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in read more
Reflection is the business of man; a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in joy? Is it not in mercy then that sorrow is allotted unto us?
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know
a hawk from a handsaw.
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know
a hawk from a handsaw.
What, shall one of us,
That struck for the foremost man of all this world
But for read more
What, shall one of us,
That struck for the foremost man of all this world
But for supporting robbers--shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
And sell the mighty space of our large honors
For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I 'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. -King read more
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I 'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.
'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful read more
'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.
This night methinks is but the daylight sick. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
This night methinks is but the daylight sick. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,— One foot in sea and one on shore, To read more
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,— One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Truth is truth To the end of reckoning. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
Truth is truth To the end of reckoning. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Come, seeling night,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,
And with thy bloody and invisible read more
Come, seeling night,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,
And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow
Makes wing to th' rooky wood.
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
