William Shakespeare ( 10 of 368 )
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grieve.
She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
Feed on her read more
She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.
Stained
With grief, that's beauty's canter.
Stained
With grief, that's beauty's canter.
Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.
Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.
Now out of this nettle, danger, will I pluck the flower, safety.
Now out of this nettle, danger, will I pluck the flower, safety.
The hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the
greater hides the less.
The hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the
greater hides the less.
How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year.
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year.
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
So may the outward shows be least themselves;
The world is still deceived with ornament.
Fear not the future, weep not for the past.
Fear not the future, weep not for the past.
