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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. read more
Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Why, then the world 's mine oyster, Which I with sword will open. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. read more
Why, then the world 's mine oyster, Which I with sword will open. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act ii. Sc. 2.
'T is well said again, And 't is a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are read more
'T is well said again, And 't is a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.
A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't. -Coriolanus. Act ii. Sc. 1.
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste read more
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness; And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. -King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.
'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in read more
'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. -King Henry VIII. Act ii. Sc. 3.
He was ever precise in promise-keeping. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 2.
He was ever precise in promise-keeping. -Measure for Measure. Act i. Sc. 2.
Let me take you a button-hole lower. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.
Let me take you a button-hole lower. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the read more
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.
