William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:
His rash fierce read more
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
Small show'rs last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding doth choke the feeder;
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will.
Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a read more
Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it.
Yet do I fear thy nature.
It is too full o' th' milk of human kindness
To read more
Yet do I fear thy nature.
It is too full o' th' milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way.
As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd She is a woman, therefore to be won
She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd She is a woman, therefore to be won
Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
Wise men never sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.
Wise men never sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's light,
That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more read more
These earthly godfathers of heaven's light,
That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more profit of their shining nights
Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
