If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do! -Much Ado read more

O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do! -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.

How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! -As You Like It. Act v. read more

How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 2.

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept. -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.

A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each read more

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

Lord, what fools these mortals be! -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Lord, what fools these mortals be! -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that read more

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.

Anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. read more

Anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.