William Shakespeare

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty,
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,
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My falcon now is sharp and passing empty,
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,
For then she never looks upon her lure.

For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross.

For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a
goose-pen, no matter.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a
goose-pen, no matter.

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. -King Henry VI. Part III. read more

And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. -King Henry VI. Part III. Act ii. Sc. 1.