From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed. -All 's Well that Ends read more

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. -Twelfth Night. Act v. Sc. 1.

Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. -Twelfth Night. Act v. Sc. 1.

So so is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. -As read more

So so is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. -As You Like It. Act v. Sc. 1.

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he read more

I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to
Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never
plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a
thousand.

Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! -King Henry VI. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there read more

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, Even there where merchants most do congregate. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

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.

Many-headed multitude. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Many-headed multitude. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 3.

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.