William Shakespeare

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
read more

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the read more

By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.

Surely, sir,
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
For, being not propped by read more

Surely, sir,
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
For, being not propped by ancestry, whose grace
Chalks successors their way, nor called upon
For high feats done to th' crown, neither allied
To eminent assistants, but spiderlike
Out of his self-drawing web, 'a gives us note,
The force of his own merit makes his way,
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.

And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale, and this cuff was but
to knock at your ear, and beseech read more

And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale, and this cuff was but
to knock at your ear, and beseech listening.

Let me play the fool;
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

Let me play the fool;
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.