William Shakespeare ( 8 of 368 )
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,
Could penetrate read more
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire.
Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
Fire that's closest kept, burns most of all.
Fire that's closest kept, burns most of all.
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren
ground--long heath, brown furze, anything. read more
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren
ground--long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be
done, but I would fain die a dry death.
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distill it out;
For our read more
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distill it out;
For our bad neighbor makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind!
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind!
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells.
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells.