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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.

-William Shakespeare

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The Native Hue Of

William Shakespeare

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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.

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Hamlet And Ophelia

More From William Shakespeare

I Had Rather Eleven Died Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

But The Strong Base And Building Of My Love Is As The Very Centre Of The Earth, Drawing All Things To It.

... By Indirections Find Directions Out.

Yet Nor The Lays Of Birds Nor The Sweet Smell Of Different Flowers In Odour And In Hue Could Make Me Any Summer's Story Tell, Or From Their Proud Lap Pluck Them Where They Grew; Nor Did I Wonder At The Lily's White, Nor Praise The Deep Vermilion In The Rose; They Were But Sweet, But Figures Of Delight, Drawn After You, You Pattern Of All Those.

The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven.

You Have Lost No Reputation At All, Unless You Repute Yourself Such A Loser.

It Comes To Pass Oft That A Terrible Oath, With A Swaggering Accent Sharply Twanged Off, Gives Manhood More Approbation Than Ever Proof Itself Would Have Earned Him.

Nay, Do Not Think I Flatter. For What Advancement May I Hope From Thee, That No Revenue Hast But Thy Good Spirits To Feed And Clothe Thee? Why Should The Poor Be Flattered?

Fill All Thy Bones With Aches.

Time Is The King Of Men.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind Thou Art Not So Unkind, As Man's Ingratitude.

Temptation Is The Fire That Brings Up The Scum Of The Heart.

Such Men As He Be Never At Heart's Ease Whiles They Behold A Greater Than Themselves, And Therefore Are They Very Dangerous.

The Weary Sun Hath Made A Golden Set And By The Bright Tract Of His Fiery Car Gives Token Of A Goodly Day To-morrow.

To Some Kind Of Men Their Graces Serve Them But As Enemies.

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.

Women Are Not In Their Best Fortunes Strong, But Want Will Perjure The Ne'er-touched Vestal.

Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are Not Steered.

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

Young Adam Cupid, He That Shot So Trim, When King Cophetua Loved The Beggar-maid!

The Play's The Thing, Wherein I'll Catch The Conscience Of The King.

Time Shall Unfold What Plaited Cunning Hides: Who Cover Faults, At Last Shame Them Derides.

This Is Some Fellow, Who Having Been Prais'd For Bluntness, Doth Affect A Saucy Roughness And Constrains The Garb Quite From His Nature: He Can't Flatter, He! An Honest Mind And Plain,--he Must Speak Truth! And They Will Take It So; If Not He's Plain. These Kind Of Knaves I Know, Which In This Plainness Harbor More Craft, And Far Corrupter Ends, Than Twenty Silly, Ducking Observants, That Stretch Their Duty Nicely.

Ah, What A Sign It Is Of Evil Life, Where Death's Approach Is Seen So Terrible!

Twas A Clever Quibble. Here, A Garment For It.

Tis Mad Idolatry To Make The Service Greater Than The God.

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

What Is Aught But As 'tis Valued?

Because It Is A Customary Cross, As Die To Love As Thoughts, And Dreams, And Sighs, Wishes, And Tears, Poor Fancy's Followers.

I Am Afeard There Are Few Die Well That Die In Battle, For How Can They Charitably Dispose Of Anything When Blood Is Their Argument?

Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds Admit Impediments. Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds, Or Bends With The Remover To Remove: O No! It Is An Ever-fixed Mark That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken; It Is The Star To Every Wandering Bark, Whose Worth's Unknown, Although His Height Be Taken. Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come: Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Proved, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Loved.

The Best Quarrels, In The Heat, Are Cursed By Those That Feel Their Sharpness.

When I Bestride Him, I Soar, I Am A Hawk: He Trots The Air; The Earth Sings When He Touches It; The Basest Horn Of His Hoof Is More Musical Than The Pipe Of Hermes.

Love's Fire Heats Water, Water Cools Not Love.

Good Counselors Lack No Clients.

Experience Teacheth Us That Resolution 's A Sole Help At Need: And This, My Lord, Our Honour Teacheth Us, That We Be Bold In Every Enterprise: Then Since There Is No Way, But Fight Or Die, Be Resolute, My Lord, For Victory.

What, Gone Without A Word? Ay, So True Love Should Do; It Cannot Speak, For Truth Hath Better Deeds Than Words To Grace It.

Men's Evil Manners Live In Brass; Their Virtues We Write In Water.

Put Forth Thy Hand, Reach At The Glorious Gold.

I Cannot Speak Your England.

Join Not With Grief, Fair Woman, Do Not So, To Make My End Too Sudden.

He Doth Nothing But Talk Of His Horses.

My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

For Some Must Watch, While Some Must Sleep So Runs The World Away

What Is Honour? A Word. What Is In That Word Honour? What Is That Honour? Air. A Trim Reckoning! Who Hath It? He That Died O' Wednesday. Doth He Feel It? No. Doth He Hear It? No.

Your Cause Of Sorrow Must Not Be Measured By His Worth, For Then It Hath No End.

Away, You Cut-purse Rascal! You Filthy Bung, Away! By This Wine, I'll Thrust My Knife In Your Mouldy Chaps, An You Play The Saucy Cuttle With Me. Away, You Bottle-ale Rascal! You Basket-hilt Stale Juggler, You!

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye

How Much Better Is It To Weep At Joy Than To Joy At Weeping?

Therefore I Tell My Sorrows To The Stones; Who, Though They Cannot Answer My Distress, Yet In Some Sort They Are Better Than The Tribunes, For That They Will Not Intercept My Tale: When I Do Weep, They Humbly At My Feet Receive My Tears And Seem To Weep With Me; And, Were They But Attired In Grave Weeds, Rome Could Afford No Tribune Like To These.

What Is More Miserable Than Discontent?

For Here, I Hope, Begins Our Lasting Joy.

That You Were Once Unkind Befriends Me Now, And For That Sorrow, Which I Then Did Feel, Needs Must I Under My Transgression Bow, Unless My Nerves Were Brass Or Hammered Steel.

Do Not Banish Reason For Inequality; But Let Your Reason Serve To Make The Truth Appear Where It Seems Hid, And Hide The False Seems True.

Time's The King Of Men; He's Both Their Parent, And He Is Their Grave, And Gives Them What He Will, Not What They Crave.

Shall Remain! Hear You This Triton Of The Minnows? Mark You His Absolute 'shall'?

Where The Bee Sucks, There Suck I In The Cow-slip's Bell I Lie There I Couch When Owls Do Cry

You Cram These Words Into Mine Ears Against The Stomach Of My Sense.

Take Her Away; For She Hath Lived Too Long, To Fill The World With Vicious Qualities.

Don't Judge A Man's Conscience By Looking At His Face Cause He May Have A Bad Heart.

Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

Honor's Thought Reigns Solely In The Breast Of Every Man.

Unsubstantial Death Is Amorous.

I Knew When Seven Justices Could Not Take Up A Quarrel, But When The Parties Were Met Themselves, One Of Them Thought But Of An If, As, 'if You Said So, Then I Said So;' And They Shook Hands And Swore Brothers. Your If Is The Only Peacemaker; Much Virtue In If.

Some Cupid Kills With Arrows, Some With Traps.

But Shall We Wear These Glories For A Day? Or Shall They Last, And We Rejoice In Them?

To Be Now A Sensible Man, By And By A Fool, And Presently A Beast!

O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You Thief Of Love!

The Big Round Tears Cours'd One Another Down His Innocent Nose, In Piteous Chase.

... The Spring, The Summer, The Chilling Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries; And The Mazed World By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

O Heresy In Fair, Fit For These Days, A Giving Hand, Though Foul, Shall Have Fair Praise.

In Love The Heavens Themselves Do Guide The State; Money Buys Lands, And Wives Are Sold By Fate.

I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Washed With Dew.

He Shall Spurn Fate, Scorn Death, And Bear His Hopes 'bove Wisdom, Grace And Fear: And You All Know, Security Is Mortals' Chiefest Enemy.

In Religion, What Damned Error But Some Sober Brow Will Bless It, And Approve It With A Text, Hiding The Grossness With Fair Ornament?

If Thou Wilt Lend This Money, Lend It Not As To Thy Friends; For When Did Friendship Take A Breed For Barren Metal Of His Friend?

Merchant Of Venice

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.

Beware The Ides Of March.

From Women's Eyes This Doctrine I Derive: They Sparkle Still The Right Promethean Fire; They Are The Books, The Arts, The Academes, That Show, Contain And Nourish All The World.

Behold The Threaden Sails, Borne With The Invisible And Creeping Wind, Draw The Huge Bottoms Through The Furrow'd Sea, Breasting The Lofty Surge

The Time Is Out Of Joint : O Cursed Spite, That Ever I Was Born To Set It Right!

Hamlet And Ophelia

Sir, The Year Growing Ancient, Not Yet On Summer's Death Nor On The Birth Of Trembling Winter, The Fairest Flowers O' Th' Season Are Our Carnations And Streaked Gillyvors, Which Some Call Nature's Bastards.

Just Death, Kind Umpire Of Men's Miseries.

For This, Be Sure, Tonight Thou Shalt Have Cramps, Side-stitches That Shall Pen Thy Breath Up. Urchins Shall Forth At Vast Of Night That They May Work All Exercise On Thee. Thou Shalt Be Pinched As Thick As Honeycomb, Each Pinch More Stinging Than Bees That Made 'em.

O' Thinkest Thou We Shall Ever Meet Again? I Doubt It Not; And All These Woes Shall Serve For Sweet Discourses In Our Times To Come.

Excellent Wretch! Perdition Catch My Soul But I Do Love Thee! And When I Love Thee Not, Chaos Is Come Again.

Ay, But Hearken, Sir; Though The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air, I Am One That Am Nourished By My Victuals, And Would Fain Have Meat.

Though Justice Be Thy Plea Consider This, That In The Course Of Justice None Of Us Should See Salvation.

Such As We Are Made Of, Such We Be.

Enjoy The Honey-heavy Dew Of Slumber.

The Crow Doth Sing As Sweetly As The Lark When Neither Is Attended; And I Think The Nightingale, If She Should Sing By Day When Every Goose Is Cackling, Would Be Thought No Better A Musician Than The Wren. How Many Thing By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

So Shows A Snowy Dove Trooping With Crows As Yonder Lady O'er Her Fellows Shows.

Who Can Be Wise, Amazed, Temperate And Furious, Loyal And Neutral, In A Moment? No Man.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Eyed, Such Seems Your Beauty Still. Three Winters Cold Have From The Forests Shook Three Summers' Pride, Three Beauteous Springs To Yellow Autumn Turn'd In Process Of The Seasons Have I Seen, Three April Perfumes In Three Hot Junes Burn'd, Since First I Saw You Fresh, Which Yet Are Green.

You Speak Like A Green Girl / Unsifted In Such Perilous Circumstances.

Hamlet And Ophelia

The Devil Is A Gentleman.

Thou Seest I Have More Flesh Than Another Man, And Therefore More Frailty.

I Understand A Fury In Your Words But Not Your Words.

What's Done Is Done. The Joy Is In The Doing.

Thou Detestable Maw, Thou Womb Of Death.

Romeo And Juliet Play

Should The Poor Be Flattered? No; Let The Candied Tongue Lick Absurd Pomp, And Crook The Pregnant Hinges Of The Knee Where Thrift May Follow Fawning.

Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

My Glass Shall Not Persuade Me I Am Old, So Long As Youth And Thou Are Of One Date; But When In Thee Time's Furrows I Behold, Then Look I Death My Days Should Expiate.

Things Are Often Spoke And Seldom Meant.

Thus Play I In One Person Many People, And None Contented: Sometimes Am I King; Then Treasons Make Me Wish Myself A Beggar, And So I Am: Then Crushing Penury Persuades Me I Was Better When A King; Then Am I King'd Again: And By And By Think That I Am Unking'd By Bolingbroke, And Straight Am Nothing: But Whate'er I Be, Nor I Nor Any Man That But Man Is With Nothing Shall Be Pleased, Till He Be Eased With Being Nothing.

Now Old Desire Doth In His Deathbed Lie, And Young Affection Gapes To Be His Heir; That Fair For Which Love Groan'd For And Would Die, With Tender Juliet Match'd, Is Now Not Fair.

Look What Thy Soul Holds Dear, Imagine It To Lie That Way Thou Goest, Not Whence Thou Com'st. Suppose The Singing Birds Musicians, The Grass Whereon Thou Tread'st The Presence Strewed, The Flowers Fair Ladies, And Thy Steps No More Than A Delight Measure Or A Dance; For Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.

This Thing Of Darkness I Acknowlege Mine. There Is Nothing More Confining Than The Prison We Don't Know We Are In.

Fear And Niceness, The Handmaids Of All Women, Or More Truly, Woman Its Pretty Self.

Falsehood Falsehood Cures

Slander, Whose Whisper Over The World's Diameter, As Level As The Cannon To Its Blank, Transports Its Poisoned Shot.

I Have Thrust Myself Into This Maze, Haply To Wive And Thrive As Best I May.

Youth To Itself Rebels, Though None Else Near.

With Caution Judge Of Probability. Things Deemed Unlikely, E'en Impossible, Experience Oft Hath Proved To Be True.

Romans, Countrymen, And Lovers, Hear Me For My Cause, And Be Silent, That You May Hear.

Let Not Our Babbling Dreams Affright Our Souls; Conscience Is But A Work That Cowards Use, Devised At First To Keep The Strong In Awe: Our Strong Arms Be Our Conscience, Swords Our Law!

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

A Ministering Angel Shall My Sister Be.

You Are Made Rather To Wonder At The Things You Hear Than To Work Any.

If Wishes Would Prevail With Me, My Purpose Should Not Fail With Me.

Will All Great Neptune's Ocean Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand? No, This My Hand Will Rather The Multitudinous Seas Incarnadine, Making The Green One Red.

What Seest Thou Else In The Dark Backward And Abysm Of Time?

Why, What's The Matter, That You Have Such A February Face, So Full Of Frost, Of Storm And Cloudiness?

Still It Cried ‘sleep No More!’ To All The House: ‘glamis Hath Murder’d Sleep, And Therefore Cawdor Shall Sleep No More,—macbeth Shall Sleep No More!

I Thank God I Am Not A Woman, To Be Touched In So Many Giddy Offences As He Hath Generally Taxed Their Whole Their Whole Sex Withal.

Better Be With The Dead, Whom We To Gain Our Peace, Have Sent To Peace, Than On The Torture Of The Mind To Lie In Restless Ecstasy.

Good Lord, For Alliance! Thus Goes Every One To The World But I, And I Am Sunburnt; I May Sit In A Corner And Cry Heigh-ho For A Husband!

I Am Wealthy In My Friends.

Make Not Your Thoughts Your Prisons.

Now, Good Digestion Wait On Appetite, And Health On Both!

A Fellow By The Hand Of Nature Mark'd, Quoted, And Sign'd, To Do A Deed Of Shame.

Then With The Losers Let It Sympathize, For Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those That Win.

There Is No Vice So Simple But Assumes Some Mark Of Virtue On His Outward Parts.

I Can Easier Teach Twenty What Were Good To Be Done, Than Be One Of The Twenty To Follow Mine Own Teaching.

Haply For I Am Black, And Have Not Those Soft Parts Of Conversation That Chamberers Have; Or For I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years—yet That’s Not Much— She’s Gone. I Am Abused, And My Relief Must Be To Loathe Her. O Curse Of Marriage, That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites! I Had Rather Be A Toad And Live Upon The Vapor Of A Dungeon Than Keep A Corner In The Thing I Love For Others’ Uses. Yet ’tis The Plague Of Great Ones; Prerogatived Are They Less Than The Base. ’tis Destiny Unshunnable, Like Death.

Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!

He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not Forget The Precious Treasure Of His Eyesight Lost.

So May I, Blind Fortune Leading Me, Miss That Which One Unworthier May Attain, And Die With Grieving.

Never Anything Can Be Amiss, When Simpleness And Duty Tender It.

For Murder, Though It Have No Tongue, Will Speak With Most Miraculous Organ.

Denmark In Hamlet

Crowns Have Their Compass-length Of Days Their Date- Triumphs Their Tomb-felicity, Her Fate- Of Nought But Earth Can Earth Make Us Partaker, But Knowledge Makes A King Most Like His Maker.

For You And I Are Past Our Dancing Days.

Oh, God! I Have An Ill-divining Soul!

What Is A Man, If His Chief Good And Market Of His Time Be But To Sleep And Feed? A Beast, No More. Sure He That Made Us With Such Large Discourse, Looking Before And After, Gave Us Not That Capability And God-like Reason To Fust In Us Unused.

Before And After

There Is None But He Whose Being I Do Fear; And Under Him My Genius Is Rebuked, As It Is Said Mark Antony's Was By Caesar.

Let There Be Gall Enough In Thy Ink, Though Thou Write With A Goose-pen, No Matter.

Avaunt, You Cullions!

Mine Eyes Smell Onions: I Shall Weep Anon.

Thou Hast No Figures Nor No Fantasies Which Busy Care Draws In The Brains Of Men; Therefore Thou Sleep'st So Sound.

Thou Weigh'st Thy Words Before Thou Givest Them Breath.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

O Helena, Goddess, Nymph, Perfect, Divine! To What, My Love, Shall I Compare Thine Eyne? Crystal Is Muddy. O, How Ripe In Show Thy Lips, Those Kissing Cherries, Tempting Grow!

This Is The Very Coinage Of Your Brain: This Bodiless Creation Ecstasy.

Have You Not A Moist Eye, A Dry Hand, A Yellow Cheek, A White Beard, A Decreasing Leg, An Increasing Belly? Is Not Your Voice Broken, Your Wind Short, Your Chin Double, Your Wit Single, And Every Part About You Blasted With Antiquity?

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love.

Gives Not The Hawthorn Bush A Sweeter Shade To Shepherds, Looking On Their Silly Sheep, Than Doth A Rich Embroider'd Canopy To Kings That Fear Their Subjects Treachery?

There Live Not Three Good Men Unhanged In England; And One Of Them Is Fat And Grows Old.

Have Not Saints Lips, And Holy Palmers Too Ay, Pilgrim, Lips That They Must Use In Prayer.

I'll Note You In My Book Of Memory.

I Cannot Be A Man With Wishing, Therefore I Will Die A Woman With Grieving.

If All The Year Were Playing Holidays; To Sport Would Be As Tedious As To Work.

The Fashion Of The World Is To Avoid Cost, And You Encounter It.

It Is The Witness Still Of Excellency To Put A Strange Face On His Own Perfection.

Give Sorrow Words; The Grief That Does Not Speak Knits Up The O-er Wrought Heart And Bids It Break.

Yet, For I Know Thou Art Religious And Hast A Thing Within Thee Called Conscience, With Twenty Popish Tricks And Ceremonies Which I Have Seen Thee Careful To Observe, Therefore I Urge Thy Oath; For That I Know An Idiot Holds His Bauble For A God And Keeps The Oath Which By That God He Swears, To That I'll Urge Him: Therefore Thou Shalt Vow By That Same God, What God Soe'er It Be, That Thou Adorest And Hast In Reverence, To Save My Boy, To Nourish And Bring Him Up, Or Else I Will Discover Naught To Thee.

The Golden Age Is Before Us, Not Behind Us.

Each Substance Of A Grief Has Twenty Shadows.

The More Pity, That Fools May Not Speak Wisely What Wise Men Do Foolishly.

Funny Inspirational

O Serpent Heart Hid With A Flowering Face! Did Ever A Dragon Keep So Fair A Cave? Beautiful Tyrant, Feind Angelical, Dove Feather Raven, Wolvish-ravening Lamb! Despised Substance Of Devinest Show, Just Opposite To What Thou Justly Seemest - A Dammed Saint, An Honourable Villain!

Why Should We Rise Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down Because T'was Night?

A Harmless Necessary Cat.

What Must Be Shall Be.

The Clamorous Owl That Nightly Hoots And Wonders At Our Quaint Spirits.

I'll Be Damned For Never A King's Son In Christendom.

Thou Shalt Be Both The Plaintiff And The Judge Of Thine Own Cause.

Past And To Come, Seems Best; Things Present, Worse.

Tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears A Painted Devil.

So, Good Night Unto You All. Give Me Your Hands, If We Be Friends, And Robin Shall Restore Amends.

Dead Poets Society

I Long To Hear The Story Of Your Life, Which Must Take The Ear Strangely.

But I, That Am Not Shaped For Sportive Tricks, Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-glass; I, That Am Rudely Stamped, And Want Love's Majesty To Strut Before A Wanton Ambling Nymph.

O, Spirit Of Love, How Quick And Fresh Art Thou!

Fairies, Black, Grey, Green, And White, You Moonshine Revellers, And Shades Of Night, You Orphan Heirs Of Fixed Destiny, Attend Your Office And Your Quality.

It Is Certain That Either Wise Bearing Or Ignorant Carriage Is Caught As Men Take Diseases, One Of Another.

Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

What E'er You Are That In This Desert Inaccessible, Under The Shade Of Melancholy Boughs, Lose And Neglect The Creeping Hours Of Time.

Fairies Use Flowers For Their Charactery.

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

I Care Not, A Man Can Die But Once; We Owe God And Death.

If Money Go Before, All Ways Do Lie Open.

Why, What Should Be The Fear? I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee.

Denmark In Hamlet

Hamlet And Ophelia

Know My Name Is Lost, By Treason's Tooth Bare-gnawn And Canker-bit; Yet Am I Noble As The Adversary I Come To Cope.

O No, Thy Love Though Much, Is Not So Great, It Is My Love That Keeps Mine Eye Awake, Mine Own True Love That Doth My Rest Defeat, To Play The Watchman Ever For Thy Sake. For Thee Watch I, Whilst Thou Dost Wake Elsewhere, From Me Far Off, With Others All Too Near.

There Is No Creature Loves Me; And If I Die, No Soul Will Pity Me.

The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And Die, But For The End It Works To.

A Little Fire Is Quickly Trodden Out, Which, Being Suffer'd, Rivers Cannot Quench.

Against Love's Fire Fear`s Frost Hath Dissolution

'tis Best To Weigh The Enemy More Mighty Than He Seems.

If There Were Reason For These Miseries, Then Into Limits Could I Bind My Woes. If The Winds Rages, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threat'ning The Welkin With Its Big-swoll'n Face? And Wilt Though Have A Reason For This Coil? I Am The Sea. Hark How Her Sighs Doth Blow. She Is The Weeping Welkin, I The Earth.

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