The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery? — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad! — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Obey thy parents, keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
Nay, had I pow'r, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To… — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence; so sweet is zealous contemplation. — William Shakespeare Copy Share Image
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears;… — 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
