William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.
The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
The lady doth protest too much, me thinks
The lady doth protest too much, me thinks
You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once--her smiles and tears
Were like, a better way: those read more
You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once--her smiles and tears
Were like, a better way: those happy smilets
That played on her ripe lip seemed not to know
What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence
As pearls from diamonds dropped.
All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more read more
All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 2.
He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it read more
He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 2.
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all read more
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.
Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. -Troilus and Cressida. Act iii. Sc. 3.
All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed read more
All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.
Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with
tickling.
Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with
tickling.
