William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge read more
Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
He was a man Of an unbounded stomach. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
He was a man Of an unbounded stomach. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
My pride fell with my fortunes. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
My pride fell with my fortunes. -As You Like It. Act i. Sc. 2.
And you, enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdsman--yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honor therein,
read more
And you, enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdsman--yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honor therein,
Unworthy thee-if ever henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to't.
And then to breakfast with What appetite you have. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
And then to breakfast with What appetite you have. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain. -Love's Labour read more
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.
A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act read more
A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame, And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. -King John. Act read more
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame, And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 1.
At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It read more
And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act ii. Sc. 1.
