William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news; give to a gracious message
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Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news; give to a gracious message
An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell
Themselves when they be felt.
All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel
than the man. But art read more
All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel
than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion
too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of
the fashion?
This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers…. There is divinity in odd numbers, either read more
This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers…. There is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. -The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act v. Sc. 1.
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.
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
Enwheel read more
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
Enwheel thee round!
The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iv. read more
The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iv. Sc. 5.
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set read more
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act v. Sc. 1.
My cake is dough. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act v. Sc. 1.
My cake is dough. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act v. Sc. 1.
Good orators, when they are out, they will spit. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Good orators, when they are out, they will spit. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.
Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I. When I was at home I was in a better read more
Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I. When I was at home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 4.
