Maxioms by William Shakespeare
And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as read more
And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act read more
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 2.
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.
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.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
