William Shakespeare

It is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation read more

It is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Ay, gentle Thurio, for you know that love
Wilt creep in service where it cannot go.

Ay, gentle Thurio, for you know that love
Wilt creep in service where it cannot go.

O God! that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
read more

O God! that one might read the book of fate,
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level. and the continent,
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the sea!

There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murther in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds read more

There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murther in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell:.

He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his
own trumpet, his own chronicle; and read more

He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his
own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but
in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.