The quality of mercy is not strained;It droppeth as the gentle rain from heavenUpon the place beneath. It is twice blessed;It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.'Tis mightiest in the mighties...
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
How now! Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand." Lady Macbeth
The death of each days life
Make the doors upon a woman's wit,and it will out at the casement;shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole;stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.
My only love sprung from my only hate!Too early seen unknown, and known too late!Prodigious birth of love it is to me,That I must love a loathed enemy.
Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart.
In black ink my love may still shine bright.
You common cry of curs! whose breath I hateAs reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prizeAs the dead carcasses of unburied menThat do corrupt my air, I banish you;And here remain with your uncertaint...
What light through yonder window breaks?
To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? T...
This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of w...
This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in the running...
So fair and foul a day I have not seen.
Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,Chief nourisher in life's feast.