William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit read more
Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest. Evils that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil.
I never knew so young a body with so old a head. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
I never knew so young a body with so old a head. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed read more
All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.'
Flatter read more
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;
For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.'
Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown.
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown.
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
Tongues I'll hang on every tree
That shall civil sayings show. . . .
Tongues I'll hang on every tree
That shall civil sayings show. . . .
Time is the justice that examines all offenders.
Time is the justice that examines all offenders.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
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.
