William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
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
The course of true love never did run smooth.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
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.
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.
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.
'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.
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!
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.
