“HIERONIMO. Art a painter? canst paint me a tear, or a wound, a groan, or a sigh?” — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
“Qui jacet in terra non habet unde cadat. In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo, Nil superest ut iam possit obesse magis." (loosely translated: "He… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
Thus must we toil in other men's extremes, That know not how to remedy our own. — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
“BEL-IMPERIA: Oh let me go; for in my troubled eyes Now may'st thou read that life in passion dies. HORATIO: Oh stay a while,… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
Oh eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears; O life, no life, but lively form of death; Oh world, no world, but mass… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
“HIERONIMO. See, who knock there. PEDRO. It is a painter, sir. HIERONIMO. Bid him come in, and paint some comfort. For surely there's none… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
As I am never better than when I am mad; then methinks I am a brave fellow; then I do wonders: but reason abuseth… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes; To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes. For here though death… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
In time the savage bull sustains the yoke; In time all haggard hawks will stoop to lure; In time small wedges cleave the hardest… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
“My soule, poore soule thou talkes of things/ Thou knowest not what, my soule hath sliver wings,/ That mounts me up unto the highest… — Thomas Kyd Copy Share Image
