William Shakespeare

For you know, nuncle,
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long
That it's had it head bit read more

For you know, nuncle,
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long
That it's had it head bit off by it young.

I am sure care's an enemy to life.

I am sure care's an enemy to life.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

(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!

The hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the
greater hides the less.

The hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the
greater hides the less.