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This was the most unkindest cut of all.


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No, no 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
William Shakespeare

Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
William Shakespeare

A plague of sighing and grief!
William Shakespeare

His life was gentle, and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, This was a man
William Shakespeare

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw my self to win!
William Shakespeare

Art thou of blood and honour?
William Shakespeare

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