William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
There is thy gold--worse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murder in this loathsome world,
Than these read more
There is thy gold--worse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murder in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none
Farewell. Buy food and get thyself in flesh.
It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes read more
It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor.
All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more read more
All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 2.
They are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act read more
They are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.
'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, read more
'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste.
My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all but my share of read more
My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
read more
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.
I'll privily away; I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes;
read more
I'll privily away; I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes;
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause and aves vehement,
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
That does not affect it.
(Celia:) Here come Monsieur Le Beau.
(Rosalind:) With his mouth full of news.
(Celia:) Which he will read more
(Celia:) Here come Monsieur Le Beau.
(Rosalind:) With his mouth full of news.
(Celia:) Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.
(Rosalind:) Then shall we be news-crammed.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
