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.
A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench. -King Henry VI. Part III. Act iv. read more
A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench. -King Henry VI. Part III. Act iv. Sc. 8.
If my gossip Report be an honest woman of her word. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 1.
If my gossip Report be an honest woman of her word. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 1.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And read more
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit,
And so he'll die; and rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him.
Some book there is that she desires to see.
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy.
read more
Some book there is that she desires to see.
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy.
But thou art deeper read and better skilled:
Come and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the damned contriver of this deed.
There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very
gesture.
There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very
gesture.
Discomfort guides my tongue
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
Discomfort guides my tongue
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms
read more
Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunction
Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.
I cannot, nor I will not hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
I cannot, nor I will not hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
