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Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath; and read more
Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath; and so was he. But we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 4.
The young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, read more
The young gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased; or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.
I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the read more
I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.
He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a read more
He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. -King John. Act ii. Sc. 1.
Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 3.
Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 3.
Truth hath a quiet breast. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.
Truth hath a quiet breast. -King Richard II. Act i. Sc. 3.
So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in read more
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. 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.
