William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.
Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.
No place indeed should murder sanctuarize;
Revenge should have no bounds.
No place indeed should murder sanctuarize;
Revenge should have no bounds.
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
Women may fall when there's no strength in men.
Women may fall when there's no strength in men.
That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So read more
That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two,
So excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month--
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she--
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
Hath often stilled my brawling discontent.
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
Hath often stilled my brawling discontent.
There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
It is neither good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.
It is neither good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where read more
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood so cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death
That is but scratched withal. I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
