William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. (Merchant Of Venice)
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. (Merchant Of Venice)
Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As will read more
Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary taker may fall dead,
And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
As violently as hasty powder fired
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.
The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
When he shall die Take him and cut him in little stars And he will make the face of heaven read more
When he shall die Take him and cut him in little stars And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
I have had my labor for my travail; ill-thought-on of her, and
ill-thought-on of you; gone between and between, read more
I have had my labor for my travail; ill-thought-on of her, and
ill-thought-on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks
for my labor.
A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. -Coriolanus. Act iv. Sc. 5.
A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. -Coriolanus. Act iv. Sc. 5.
Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and read more
Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.
The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
read more
The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with th' enameled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge,
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go and hinder not my course.
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honor bright; to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, read more
Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honor bright; to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mock'ry.
