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Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. read more
Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 1.
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.
Still you keep o' the windy side of the law. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Still you keep o' the windy side of the law. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.
It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. Sc. 1.
For ever and a day. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
For ever and a day. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.
The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in read more
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
