How we lavish our money and worship on Shakespeare without in the least knowing why!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world.
Elvis is the soul of discretion.
Love and kindness are never wasted. They always make a difference. They bless the one who receives them, and they bless you, the giver.
He kills her in her own humor.
If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.
O, that he were here to write me down an ass! But, masters, remember, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.
They are the books, the arts, the academes,That show, contain and nourish all the world.
I wrote you this poem because i was afraid/ To come out and tell you i want to get laid.
And now to sleep, to dream...perchance to fart.
It is difficult to restrain admirers of Shakespeare once they have begun to speak of him.
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause
If Shakespeare be considered as a MAN born in a rude age and educated in the lowest manner, without any instruction either from the world or from books, he may be regarded as a prodigy; if represented...
Hamlet' dwarfs 'Hamilton' - it dwarfs pretty much everything - but there's a revealing similarity between them. Shakespeare's longest play leaves its audience in the dark about some basic and seemingl...
She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.
A play that takes as its burden the meaning of self-consciousness may hint that inner freedom can be attained only when the protagonist can separate his genius for expanding consciousness from his own...
If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'this poet lies! Such heaven never touched earthly faces
[Lear] is the universal image of the unwisdom and destructiveness of paternal love at its most ineffectual, implacably persuaded of its own benignity, totally devoid of self-knowledge, and careening o...
O mother, mother!What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,The gods look down, and this unnatural sceneThey laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!You have won a happy victory to Rome;But, for your son...
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