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    Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have: And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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  3  /  17  

I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. -King Henry V. Act iii. Sc. 2.

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  10  /  8  

A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. -The Winter's Tale. Act iv. Sc. 3.

A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. -The Winter's Tale. Act iv. Sc. 3.

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  7  /  11  

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.

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  5  /  13  

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission An read more

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

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  12  /  7  

Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. -The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 1.

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  11  /  5  

I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

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  5  /  9  

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.

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  6  /  9  

Put thyself into the trick of singularity. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Put thyself into the trick of singularity. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

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  4  /  13  

Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. -The Comedy of Errors. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. -The Comedy of Errors. Act iii. Sc. 1.

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