William Shakespeare ( 10 of 368 )
'Tis neither here nor there.
'Tis neither here nor there.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Poor and content is rich, and rich enough;
But riches fineless is as poor as winter
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Poor and content is rich, and rich enough;
But riches fineless is as poor as winter
To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude:
Thy read more
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude:
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
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When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
Untimely storms makes men expect a dearth.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your read more
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your son gone, and he most violent author
Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly
In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts;
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death,
Wherein necessity, of matter beggared,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear.
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man, that mocks at it, and sets it light.
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man, that mocks at it, and sets it light.
How many cowards whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
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How many cowards whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,
Who inward searched, have livers white as milk!
Those, that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws.
Those, that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws.
Thou marvell'st at my words, but hold thee still;
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
Thou marvell'st at my words, but hold thee still;
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
