William Shakespeare

O, he's a limb that has but a disease:
Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.

O, he's a limb that has but a disease:
Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.

But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

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.

Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 5.

Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 5.

I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still read more

I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience.