To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.
His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table." Macbeth
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence.
The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.
O,speak to me no more;these words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!)" — William Shakespeare "hamlet
How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
We will have rings and things and fine array
The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.
Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
This rough magic I here abjure and when I have required some heavenly music, which even now I do, to work mine end upon their senses that this airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book.
For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.
Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
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