Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
They could be content
To visit other places, and come down
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;
But 'tis not so.
And whatsoever else shall hap tonight, Give it an understanding, but no tongue
That thou hast wronged in the time
o'erpast;
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
This respite shook
The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
The region of my breast, which forc'd such way
That many maz'd considerings did throng
And press'd in with this caution.
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
The King hath sent to know
The nature of your griefs; and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of civil peace
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land
Audacious cruelty.
An overflow of good converts to bad.
Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,
And to our sport.
Yet a coward is worse than
a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous coward!
Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you lisp and wear
strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be
out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making
you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have
swam in a gondola.
We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
They call false caterpillars and intend their death.
I 'gin to grow aweary of the sun, And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband.
Advantage is a better soldier than rashness.
To die, to sleep To sleep perchance to dream ay, there's the rub
We pray you throw to earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father; for let the world take note
You are the most immediate to our throne,
And with no less nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you.
Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of
my greatness to acknowledge it.
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.
An earnest conjuration from the King,
As England was his faithful tributary,
As love between them like the palm might flourish,
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
And stand a comma 'tween their amities,
And many such-like as's of great charge,
That, on the view and knowing of these contents,
Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
Not shriving time allow'd.
I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter some that humble themselves may but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.
The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds.
Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome
How furious and impatient they be,
And cannot brook competitors in love?
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd
So many English kings.
What can be happier than for a man, conscious of virtuous acts, and content with liberty, to despise all human affairs.
A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Let me be cruel, not unnaturalI will speak daggers to her, but use none.
Fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
By that sin fell the angels.
For the love o' God, peace!
I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
I go, and it is done the bell invites me.Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knellThat summons thee to heaven or to hell.
Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but
for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as covered
goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
And thence it is
That I to your assistance do make love,
Masking the business from the common eye
For sundry weighty reasons.
Now to seem to affect the malice and
displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes- to
flatter them for their love.
A man, as you are.
O world, world thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed.
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;
If that be all the difference in his love,
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
Love is not so great,
Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly
out; our cake's dough on both sides.
The will of man is by his reason swayed.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff - Julius Caesar.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories