William Shakespeare

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

The devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape.

The devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape.

There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury,
exceeds her as much in beauty as the read more

There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury,
exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last
of December.

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides.

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides.

(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with read more

(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies
That keep her from her rest.
(Macbeth:) Cure her of that!
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory of a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
(Doctor:) Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
(Macbeth:) Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it!