William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
O that this too too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,
Or read more
O that this too too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter.
Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his read more
Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.
(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with read more
(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies
That keep her from her rest.
(Macbeth:) Cure her of that!
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory of a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
(Doctor:) Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
(Macbeth:) Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it!
No, Antony, take the lot:
But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. read more
No, Antony, take the lot:
But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar
Grew faw with feasting there.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act read more
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to read more
Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them
And show the heavens more just.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus read more
Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus and Cressida. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword,
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass read more
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword,
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th' observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
