William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.
I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
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In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigged,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively have quit it.
Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Happy man be his dole! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament.
They are read more
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament.
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
Chaste as the icicle That 's curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian's temple. -Coriolanus. Act read more
Chaste as the icicle That 's curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian's temple. -Coriolanus. Act v. Sc. 3.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king. -King Richard read more
Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, read more
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,— This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.
The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for read more
The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
I do not hate a proud man, as I do hate the engendering of toads.
I do not hate a proud man, as I do hate the engendering of toads.
