How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. -The Merchant of read more

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.

To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast Fits a dull fighter and a keen read more

To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iv. Sc. 2.

I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. -As You Like It. read more

I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Thou art the Mars of malcontents. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.

Thou art the Mars of malcontents. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 3.

The mirror of all courtesy. -King Henry VIII. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The mirror of all courtesy. -King Henry VIII. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The stream of Time, which is continually washing the dissoluble
fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the read more

The stream of Time, which is continually washing the dissoluble
fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the adamant of
Shakespeare.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,— A stage, where every man must play a part; And mine read more

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,— A stage, where every man must play a part; And mine a sad one. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

His heart and hand both open and both free; For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows; Yet read more

His heart and hand both open and both free; For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows; Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iv. Sc. 5.

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with read more

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.