William Shakespeare

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell
That he hath turned a heaven unto a hell!

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell
That he hath turned a heaven unto a hell!

There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond. -The Merchant of Venice. read more

There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.

So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication read more

So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep.
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will; . . .

A thing devised by the enemy. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.

A thing devised by the enemy. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 3.