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Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. read more
Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
A harmless necessary cat. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
A harmless necessary cat. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand read more
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
I am sure care 's an enemy to life. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
I am sure care 's an enemy to life. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
I dote on his very absence. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.
I dote on his very absence. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 2.
He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. -King Henry VIII. read more
He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. read more
I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.
There, Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb
The crowns o' the world. Oh, eyes sublime
With tears and read more
There, Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb
The crowns o' the world. Oh, eyes sublime
With tears and laughter for all time.
Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her read more
Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
