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And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as read more
And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings. -King Richard II. Act iii. Sc. 2.
If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are read more
If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.
This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had read more
This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the graver had a strife
With Nature, to outdo the life:
Oh, could he but have drawn his wit
As well in brass, as he has hit
His face, the print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in brass;
But since he cannot, reader, look
Not on his picture, but his book.
Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? -Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky read more
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. -As You Like It. 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.
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation. -King Henry VI. Part II. read more
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation. -King Henry VI. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. -Much Ado read more
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.
By my penny of observation. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
By my penny of observation. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.
