William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity,
read more
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity,
And pity 'tis 'tis true--a foolish figure.
A woman that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going read more
A woman that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watched that it may still go right!
With this there grows
In my most ill-compos'd affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I King,
read more
With this there grows
In my most ill-compos'd affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I King,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands,
Desire his jewels, and this other's house,
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more, that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.
Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have read more
Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have worn out Christendom.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.
Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.
Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.
Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.
Simply the thing that I am shall make me live.
O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of
myself, and what remains is bestial. read more
O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of
myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my
reputation!
Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honor bright; to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, read more
Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honor bright; to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mock'ry.
If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to read more
If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud you again.
