An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England! -King Henry V. Act read more

An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England! -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 8.

Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath, Study to break it and not break my troth. -Love's Labour 's read more

Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath, Study to break it and not break my troth. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

A man of my kidney. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.

A man of my kidney. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

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.

Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; read more

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

Let the world slide. -The Taming of the Shrew. Induc. Sc. 1.

Let the world slide. -The Taming of the Shrew. Induc. Sc. 1.

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are read more

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.