True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. -King Richard III. read more

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. -King Richard III. Act v. Sc. 2.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

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.

A good mouth-filling oath. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

A good mouth-filling oath. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words,— Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, read more

Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words,— Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,— Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. -King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 3.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. -All 's Well that Ends Well. read more

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act iv. Sc. 3.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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.

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are read more

'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.