William Shakespeare ( 10 of 1881 )
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.
He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all of my
substance into that fat read more
He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all of my
substance into that fat belly of his.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound
He jests at scars that never felt a wound
It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. -King Henry IV. read more
It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act ii. Sc. 2.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.
True is it that we have seen better days. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
True is it that we have seen better days. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with read more
(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies
That keep her from her rest.
(Macbeth:) Cure her of that!
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory of a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
(Doctor:) Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
(Macbeth:) Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it!
Come, let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me. All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's read more
Come, let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me. All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's mock the midnight bell.
Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
