William Shakespeare

Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
read more

Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself,
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou are crowned, not that I am dead.

(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!

If this is a crush, then I don't know if I could take the real thing if it happens.

If this is a crush, then I don't know if I could take the real thing if it happens.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt

What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. read more

What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket! -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 3.