So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.
Faith, I saw it not, but I felt it hot in
her breath.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered.
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side.
Every cloud engenders not a storm.
Farewell, my wife and children!
And then for her
To win the Moor, were't to renounce his baptism,
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love,
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the god
With his weak function.
God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!
Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor
Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand
And send it to the King: he for the same
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,
And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
Look down you gods, and on this couple drop a blessed crown.- from The Tempest
I may command where I adore.
Keep peace, upon your lives!
Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure.
Man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, As make the angels weep.
Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
The chronicle of wasted time.
Ill note you in my book of memory.
Tell him when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,
He little thought of this divided friendship.
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envi
We go to gain a little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name.
Thy mother's name is ominous to children.
Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mull'd, deaf, sleepy,
insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a
destroyer of men.
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
The prince of darkness is a gentleman.
Take, O, take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again, bring again;
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain.
When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound.
I charge thee, fling away ambition By that sin fell the angels.
Beauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
Being scarce made up,
I mean to man, he had not apprehension
Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
Is oft the cease of fear.
'Tis not to make me jealous
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.
O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having....
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill
him if he came.
The best safety lies in fear.
I see them now; then was a blessed time.
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade, He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast.
Nothing can come of nothing.
Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.
This was the most unkindest cut of all.
By heaven, I love thee better than myself,
For I come hither arm'd against myself.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man; As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit; To his full height.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories