For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

This is very midsummer madness. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

This is very midsummer madness. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Comparisons are odorous. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 5.

Comparisons are odorous. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 5.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity. -The Comedy of Errors. Act ii. Sc. 1.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity. -The Comedy of Errors. Act ii. Sc. 1.

I have a kind of alacrity in sinking. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.

I have a kind of alacrity in sinking. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 5.

For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
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For a good poet's made, as well as born,
And such wast thou! Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue; even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind and manner brightly shine
In his well-turned and true-filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender read more

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you, an 't were any nightingale. -A read more

I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you, an 't were any nightingale. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act i. Sc. 2.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 5.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 5.