William Shakespeare

Is Brutus sick, and is it physical
To walk unbraced and suck up the humors
Of the read more

Is Brutus sick, and is it physical
To walk unbraced and suck up the humors
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed
To dare the vile contagion of the night,
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air,
To add unto his sickness?

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall

The general's disdained
By him one step below, he by the next,
The next by him beneath; read more

The general's disdained
By him one step below, he by the next,
The next by him beneath; so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation:
And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, read more

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.

O that men's ears should be
To counsel deaf but not to flattery!

O that men's ears should be
To counsel deaf but not to flattery!