This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor? Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind,… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Every subject's duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore, should every soldier in the wars do as… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep’st so sound. Julius Caesar (2.1.248-251)” — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman's nay doth stand for naught? — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image