William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Go to your bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
Go to your bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
'Tis gold
Which buys admittance--oft it doth--yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
read more
'Tis gold
Which buys admittance--oft it doth--yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
This deer to th' stand o' th' stealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief,
Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, read more
But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired, swoon, I think,
To show myself a glass.
Love is a spirit of all compact of fire.
Love is a spirit of all compact of fire.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, read more
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it. -As You Like It. Act iii. Sc. 2.
I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel,
but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should read more
I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel,
but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in
their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should with
joy, pleasance, revel, and applause transform ourselves into
beasts!
