Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus read more

Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. -Troilus and Cressida. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. read more

Men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act v. 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.

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 2.

The ripest fruit first falls. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The ripest fruit first falls. -King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

A very beadle to a humorous sigh. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A very beadle to a humorous sigh. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, read more

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. read more

Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 4.

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls read more

When great poets sing,
Into the night new constellations spring,
With music in the air that dulls the craft
Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
With melody divine.