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Food for powder, food for powder; they 'll fill a pit as well as better. -King Henry IV. Part I. read more
Food for powder, food for powder; they 'll fill a pit as well as better. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, read more
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. -The Tempest. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Speak me fair in death. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he read more
Gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. -King Richard II. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Deeper than e'er plummet sounded. -The Tempest. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Deeper than e'er plummet sounded. -The Tempest. Act iii. Sc. 3.
In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. read more
In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.
No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. -King Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 1.
This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. -A Midsummer read more
This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act v. Sc. 1.
