William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.
She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vie read more
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vie whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.
All the world 's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their read more
All the world 's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard; Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
My plenteous joys,
Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow.
My plenteous joys,
Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow.
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; read more
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.
How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. read more
How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
We are not ourselves
When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind
To suffer with the body.
We are not ourselves
When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind
To suffer with the body.
The charm dissolves apace;
And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their read more
The charm dissolves apace;
And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason.
