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This Is A Gift That I Have, Simple, Simple; A Foolish Extravagant Spirit Full Of Forms, Figures, Shapes, Objects, Ideas, Apprehensions, Motions, Revolutions; These Are Begot In The Ventricle Of Memory, Nourished In The Womb Of Pia Mater, And Delivered Upon The Mellowing Of Occasion.

-William Shakespeare

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This Is A Gift

William Shakespeare

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This Is A Gift That I Have, Simple, Simple; A Foolish Extravagant Spirit Full Of Forms, Figures, Shapes, Objects, Ideas, Apprehensions, Motions, Revolutions; These Are Begot In The Ventricle Of Memory, Nourished In The Womb Of Pia Mater, And Delivered Upon The Mellowing Of Occasion.

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More From William Shakespeare

Now Get You To My Lady's Chamber, And Tell Her, Let Her Paint An Inch Thick, To This Favour She Must Come; Make Her Laugh At That.

Important Hamlet

So Are You To My Thoughts As Food To Life, Or As Sweet Seasoned Showers Are To The Ground.

O! That A Man Might Know The End Of This Day's Business, Ere It Come; But It Sufficeth That The Day Will End, And Then The End Is Known.

Omission To Do What Is Necessary Seals A Commission To A Blank Of Danger; And Danger, Like An Ague, Subtly Taints Even Then When We Sit Idly In The Sun.

My Endeavors Have Ever Come Too Short Of My Desires. Yet Filed With My Abilities.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

Home-keeping Youth Have Ever Homely Wits.

Two Women Placed Together Makes Cold Weather.

Let Them Obey That Knows Not How To Rule.

"fair, Kind, And True" Is All My Argument, "fair, Kind, And True" Varying To Other Words; And In This Change Is My Invention Spent, Three Themes In One, Which Wondrous Scope Affords.

All The Contagion Of The South Light On You, You Shames Of Rome! You Herd Of--boils And Plagues Plaster You O'er; That You May Be Abhorr'd Further Than Seen, And One Infect Another Against The Wind A Mile!

The Hand Of Little Employment Hath The Daintier Sense.

Each Substance Of A Grief Has Twenty Shadows.

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

The Tyrant Custom, Most Grave Senators, Hath Made The Flinty And Steel Couch Of War My Thrice-driven Bed Of Down.

Where Every Something, Being Blent Together Turns To A Wild Of Nothing.

Methinks A Father Is At The Nuptial Of His Son A Guest That Best Becomes The Table.

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'

What Else May Hap, To Time I Will Commit.

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World With Vilest Worms To Dwell: Nay, If You Read This Line, Remember Not The Hand That Writ It, For I Love You So, That I In Your Sweet Thoughts Would Be Forgot, If Thinking On Me Then Should Make You Woe. O! If, I Say, You Look Upon This Verse When I Perhaps Compounded Am With Clay, Do Not So Much As My Poor Name Rehearse; But Let Your Love Even With My Life Decay; Lest The Wise World Should Look Into Your Moan, And Mock You With Me After I Am Gone.

It Is The Purpose That Makes Strong The Vow; But Vows To Every Purpose Must Not Hold.

If We Are True To Ourselves, We Can Not Be False To Anyone.

Where Art Thou, Muse, That Thou Forget'st So Long / To Speak Of That Which Gives Thee All Thy Might?

Obey Thy Parents, Keep Thy Word Justly; Swear Not; Commit Not With Man's Sworn Spouse; Set Not Thy Sweet Heart On Proud Array. * * * Keep Thy Foot Out Of Brothels, Thy Pen From Lenders' Books.

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.

How Quickly Nature Falls Into Revolt When Gold Becomes Her Object! For This The Foolish Over-careful Fathers Have Broke Their Sleep With Thoughts, Their Brains With Care, Their Bones With Industry.

To Be In Anger Is Impiety, But Who Is Man That Is Not Angry?

I Told You, Sir, They Were Red-hot With Drinking; So Full Of Valor That They Smote The Air, For Breathing In Their Faces, Beat The Ground For Kissing Of Their Feet.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten, And Cry Mew, Than One Of These Same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I Had Rather Heare A Brazen Candlestick Turn'd, Or A Dry Wheele Grate On The Axle-tree, And That Would Set My Teeth Nothing An Edge, Nothing So Much, As Mincing Poetrie.

O Braggart Vile And Damned Furious Wight!

Is There No Respect Of Place, Persons, Nor Time In You?

Unhappy That I Am, I Cannot Heave My Heart Into My Mouth.

Nay, We Must Think Men Are Not Gods, Nor Of Them Look For Such Observancy As Fits The Bridal.

It Is To Be All Made Of Fantasy, All Made Of Passion And All Made Of Wishes, All Adoration, Duty, And Observance, All Humbleness, All Patience And Impatience, All Purity, All Trial, All Observance

I Cannot Tell What The Dickens His Name Is.

Speak Me Fair In Death.

All Surfeit Is The Father Of Much Fast.

Measure For Measure

I Hold Him But A Fool That Will Endanger His Body For A Girl That Loves Him Not.

All Things That Are, Are With More Spirit Chased Than Enjoyed.

Merchant Of Venice

Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To Fine Issues.

The Caterpillars Of The Commonwealth, Which I Have Sworn To Weed And Pluck Away.

And Where Two Raging Fires Meet Together, They Do Consume The Thing That Feeds Their Fury.

If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On, Give Me Excess Of It; That Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.

Unrequited Love

Our Remedies Oft In Ourselves Do Lie, Which We Ascribe To Heaven.

By My Troth, I Care Not; A Man Can Die But Once; We Owe God A Death And Let It Go Which Way It Will He That Dies This Year Is Quit For The Next

A Man Cannot Make Him Laugh - But That's No Marvel; He Drinks No Wine.

Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere.

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

Mine Honor Is My Life, Both Grow In One. Take Honor From Me, And My Life Is Done. Then, Dear My Liege, Mine Honor Let Me Try; In That I Live, And For That I Will Die.

Day, Night, Late, Early, At Home, Abroad, Alone, In Company, Waking Or Sleeping, Still My Care Hath Been To Have Her Match'd; And Having Now Provided A Gentleman Of Princely Parentage, Of Fair Demesnes, Youthful, And Nobly Train'd, Stuff'd, As They Say, With Honourable Parts, Proportion'd As One's Thought Would Wish A Man- And Then To Have A Wretched Puling Fool, A Whining Mammet, In Her Fortune's Tender, To Answer 'i'll Not Wed, I Cannot Love; I Am Too Young, I Pray You Pardon Me'!

Shall I Not Take Mine Ease In Mine Inn But I Shall Have My Pocket Picked?

Thriftless Ambition, That Wilt Ravin Up Thine Own Life's Means!

There Is Special Providence In The Fall Of A Sparrow.

Hamlet And Ophelia

As He Was Valiant, I Honour Him. But As He Was Ambitious, I Slew Him.

To Thine Own Self Be True, And It Must Follow, As The Night The Day, Thou Canst Not Then Be False To Any Man.

Look Like The Innocent Flower, But Be The Serpent Under It.

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.

No, By My Soul, I Never In My Life Did Hear A Challenge Urged More Modestly, Unless A Brother Should A Brother Dare To Gentle Exercise And Proof Of Arms.

Well, Heaven Forgive Him! And Forgive Us All! Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall: Some Run From Brakes Of Ice, And Answer None: And Some Condemned For A Fault Alone.

The Jury Passing On The Prisoner's Life May In The Sworn Twelve Have A Thief Or Two Guiltier Than Him They Try.

The Devil Can Cite Scripture For His Purpose.

I Cannot Do It Without Comp[u]ters.

In Sooth I Know Not Why I Am So Sad. It Wearies Me, You Say It Wearies You; But How I Caught It, Found It, Or Came By It, What Stuff 'tis Made Of, Whereof It Is Born, I Am To Learn.

Bell, Book And Candle Shall Not Drive Me Back, When Gold And Silver Becks Me To Come On.

Speak Of Me As I Am. Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice.

Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

Not A Whit, We Defy Augury: There's A Special Providence In The Fall Of A Sparrow. If It Be Now, 'tis Not To Come; If It Be Not To Come, It Will Be Now; If It Be Not Now, Yet It Will Come: The Readiness Is All.

I Beseech You, Wrest Once The Law To Your Authority: To Do A Great Right, Do A Little Wrong.

Then Others For Breath Of Words Respect, Me For My Dumb Thoughts, Speaking In Effect.

And How His Audit Stands Who Knows, Save Heaven?

O, While You Live, Tell Truth, And Shame The Devil!

Against Love's Fire Fear`s Frost Hath Dissolution

As I Love The Name Of Honour More Than I Fear Death.

Proper Deformity Shows Not In The Fiend So Horrid As In Woman.

For Night's Swift Dragons Cut The Clouds Full Fast, And Yonder Shines Aurora's Harbinger; At Whose Approach Ghosts Wandring Here And There Troop Home To Church-yards.... For Fear Lest Day Should Look Their Shames Upon, They Willfully Exile Themselves From Light, And Must For Aye Consort With Black Brow'd Night.

Comets Importing Change Of Times And States, Brandish Your Crystal Tresses In The Sky And With Them Scourge The Bad Revolting Stars.

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

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

Woah Is Me To Have Seen What I Seen See What I See

Hamlet And Ophelia

What Should A Man Do But Be Merry? For Look You How Cheerfully My Mother Looks, And My Father Died Within's Two Hours.

Lend Less Than You Owe.

The Very Instant I Saw You, Did My Heart Fly To Your Service; There Resides To Make Me Slave To It. ...mine Unworthiness, That Dare Not Offer What I Desire To Give, And Much Less Take What I Shall Die To Want.

O Coward Conscience, How Dost Thou Afflict Me!

Live Loath'd And Long, Most Smiling, Smooth, Detested Parasites, Courteous Destroyers, Affable Wolves, Meek Bears, You Fools Of Fortune, Trencher Friends, Time Flies Cap And Knee Slaves, Vapors, And Minute Jacks.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief? O Sweet My Mother, Cast Me Not Away! Delay This Marriage For A Month, A Week, Or If You Do Not, Make The Bridal Bed In That Dim Monument Where Tybalt Lies.

I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounc'd It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue.

The Dullness Of The Fool Is The Whetstone Of The Wits.

For I Have Neither Wit, Nor Words, Nor Worth, Action, Nor Utterance, Nor The Power Of Speech, To Stir Men's Blood: I Only Speak Right On; I Tell You That Which You Yourselves Do Know.

Things Done Well And With A Care, Exempt Themselves From Fear.

This Day's Black Fate On More Days Doth Depend; This But Begins The Woe, Others Must End.

Be To Yourself As You Would To Your Friend.

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

Those, That With Haste Will Make A Mighty Fire, Begin It With Weak Straws.

Thus We Play The Fool With The Time And The Spirits Of The Wise Sit In The Clouds And Mock Us.

Which Means She To Deceive, Father Or Mother?

Ere I Could Make Thee Open Thy White Hand, And Clap Thyself My Love; Then Didst Thou Utter, I Am Your's For Ever!

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

When Once Our Grace We Have Forgot, Nothing Goes Right.

Measure For Measure

All Of Creation’s A Farce. Man Was Born As A Joke. In His Head His Reason Is Buffeted Like Wind-blown Smoke. Life Is A Game. Everyone Ridicules Everyone Else. But He Who Has The Last Laugh Laughs Longest.

O God, I Could Be Bound In A Nutshell, And Count Myself A King Of Infinite Space – Were It Not That I Have Bad Dreams.

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.

Many That Are Not Mad Have, Sure, More Lack Of Reason.

So Will I Turn Her Virtue Into Pitch, And Out Of Her Own Goodness Make The Net That Shall Enmesh Them All.

As True As Steel, As Plantage To The Moon, As Sun To Day, At Turtle To Her Mate, As Iron To Adamant, As Earth To Centre.

And Will He Not Come Again? And Will He Not Come Again? No, No, He Is Dead. Go To Thy Deathbed. He Never Will Come Again.

Of All Complexions The Culled Sovereignty Do Meet, As At A Fair, In Her Fair Cheek, Where Several Worthies Make One Dignity, Where Nothing Wants That Want Itself Doth Seek.

Cheerily To Sea; The Signs Of War Advance: No King Of England, If Not King Of France

Hot And Hasty, Like A Scotch Jig.

Alas, That Love, So Gentle In His View, Should Be So Tyrannous And Rough In Proof! *it’s Sad. Love Looks Like A Nice Thing, But It’s Actually Very Rough When You Experience It.*

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

Wise Men Never Sit And Wail Their Loss, But Cheerily Seek How To Redress Their Harms.

My Age Is As A Lusty Winter, Frosty But Kindly.

All Hoods Make Not Monks.

Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.

How Art Thou Out Of Breath When Thou Hast Breath To Say To Me That Thou Art Out Of Breath?

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.

The Why Is Plain As Way To Parish Church: He That A Fool Doth Very Wisely Hit Doth Very Foolishly, Although He Smart, Not To Seem Senseless Of The Bob; If Not, The Wise Man's Folly Is Anatomiz'd Even By The Squand'ring Glances Of The Fool.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow, Than A Man Swear He Loves Me.

These Cardinals Trifle With Me; I Abhor; This Dilatory Sloth And Tricks Of Rome.

The Sweets We Wish For, Turn To Loathed Sours, Even In The Moment That We Call Them Ours.

What A Piece Of Work Is A Man, How Noble In Reason, How Infinite In Faculties, In Form And Moving How Express And Admirable, In Action How Like An Angel, In Apprehension How Like A God.

Full Fathom Five Thy Father Lies; Of His Bones Are Coral Made; Those Are Pearls That Were His Eyes; Nothing Of Him That Doth Fade, But Doth Suffer A Sea-change Into Something Rich And Strange. Sea-nymphs Hourly Ring His Knell: Ding-dong. Hark! Now I Hear Them — Ding-dong, Bell.

In Time The Savage Bull Doth Bear The Yoke.

Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are Not Steered.

If Love Be Blind, Love Cannot Hit The Mark

Methought I Was Enamour'd Of An Ass.

O, What A Goodly Outside Falsehood Hath!

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbl'd Shore, So Do Our Minutes, Hasten To Their End.

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.

We Know What We Are, But Know Not What We May Be.

I See A Man's Life Is A Tedious One.

Words, Words, Mere Words, No Matter From The Heart.

Tax Not So Bad A Voice To Slander Music Any More Than Once.

Quince Francis Flute, The Bellows-mender. Flute Here, Peter Quince. Quince Flute, You Must Take Thisby On You. Flute What Is Thisby? A Wandering Knight? Quince It Is The Lady That Pyramus Must Love. Flute Nay, Faith, Let Me Not Play A Woman; I Have A Beard Coming.

So Now I Have Confessed That He Is Thine, And I My Self Am Mortgaged To Thy Will, My Self I'll Forfeit, So That Other Mine, Thou Wilt Restore To Be My Comfort Still.

Flower Of This Purple Dye, Hit With Cupid's Archery, Sink In Apple Of His Eye.

The Eye Sees All, But The Mind Shows Us What We Want To See.

Pray You Now, Forget And Forgive.

Forgive And Forget

For Naught So Vile That On The Earth Doth Live But To The Earth Some Special Good Doth Give.

O Father Abram, What These Christians Are, Whose Own Hard Dealing Teaches Them Suspect The Thoughts Of Others!

What Is The City But The People?

If Chance Will Have Me King, Why, Chance May Crown Me.

Tut, Man, One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning; One Pain Is Less'ned By Another's Anguish; Turn Giddy, And Be Holp By Backward Turning; One Desperate Grief Cures With Another's Languish.

The Hand That Hath Made You Fair Hath Made You Good. Pity Is The Virtue Of The Law, And None But Tyrants Use It Cruelly.

I Am Not Yet Of Percy's Mind, The Hotspur Of The North; He That Kills Me Some Six Or Seven Dozen Of Scots As A Breakfast, Washes His Hands, And Says To His Wife, 'fie Upon This Quiet Life! I Want Work.

Beauty Is But A Vain And Doubtful Good; A Shining Gloss That Fadeth Suddenly; A Flower That Dies When It Begins To Bud; A Doubtful Good, A Gloss, A Glass, A Flower, Lost, Faded, Broken, Dead Within An Hour.

Some There Be That Shadows Kiss; Such Have But A Shadow's Bliss.

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell. Though All Things Foul Would Wear The Brows Of Grace, Yet Grace Must Still Look So.

Call Me What Instrument You Will, Though You Can Fret Me, You Cannot Play Upon Me.

Important Hamlet

Is This A Vision? Is This A Dream? Do I Sleep?

Our Rash Faults Make Trivial Price Of Serious Thing We Have, Not Knowing Them Until We Know Their Grave.

To Be Slow In Words Is A Woman's Only Virtue.

Presume Not That I Am The Thing I Was.

Love Is Heavy And Light, Bright And Dark, Hot And Cold, Sick And Healthy, Asleep And Awake- Its Everything Except What It Is! (act 1, Scene 1)

Use Almost Can Change The Stamp Of Nature.

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?

Get Thee To A Nunnery.

If I Profane With My Unworthiest Hand This Holy Shrine, The Gentle Fine Is This: My Lips, Two Blushing Pilgrims, Ready Stand To Smooth That Rough Touch With A Tender Kiss.

Dost Thou Love Hawking? Thou Hast Hawks Will Soar Above The Morning Lark.

We Cannot Conceive Of Matter Being Formed Of Nothing, Since Things Require A Seed To Start From... Therefore There Is Not Anything Which Returns To Nothing, But All Things Return Dissolved Into Their Elements.

For Youth No Less Becomes The Light And Careless Livery That It Wears, Than Settled Age His Sables, And His Weeds Importing Health And Graveness.

To Weep Is To Make Less The Depth Of Grief.

Sometimes, Less Is More.

My Cake Is Dough, But I'll In Among The Rest, Out Of Hope Of All But My Share Of The Feast.

How Oft The Sight Of Means To Do Ill Deeds Makes Ill Deeds Done!

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.

What, No More Ceremony? See, My Women! Against The Blown Rose May They Stop Their Nose That Kneel'd Unto The Buds.

There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.

Alas, How Love Can Trifle With Itself!

Where Is Your Ancient Courage? You Were Used To Say Extremities Was The Trier Of Spirits; That Common Chances Common Men Could Bear; That When The Sea Was Calm All Boats Alike Showed Mastership In Floating.

It Is A Good Divine That Follows His Own Instructions.

Following Instructions

Lord, Lord, How This World Is Given To Lying!

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

Self-love Is The Most Inhibited Sin In The Canon.

Make The Doors Upon A Woman's Wit, And It Will Out At The Casement; Shut That, And 'twill Out At The Key-hole; Stop That, 'twill Fly With The Smoke Out At The Chimney.

Is It Thy Will, Thy Image Should Keep Open My Heavy Eyelids To The Weary Night? Dost Thou Desire My Slumbers Should Be Broken, While Shadows Like To Thee Do Mock My Sight? Is It Thy Spirit That Thou Send'st From Thee So Far From Home Into My Deeds To Pry, To Find Out Shames And Idle Hours In Me, The Scope And Tenor Of Thy Jealousy? 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.

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

Now The Good Gods Forbid That Our Renowned Rome, Whose Gratitude Towards Her Deserved Children Is Enrolled In Jove's Own Book, Like An Unnatural Dam Should Now Eat Up Her Own!

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

Good Friend For Jesus Sake Forbeare, To Digg The Dust Encloased Heare! Blest Be The Man That Spares Thes Stones, And Curst Be He That Moves My Bones.

Come, Go With Us, Speak Fair; You May Salve So, Not What Is Dangerous Present, But The Los Of What Is Past.

Keep Time! How Sour Sweet Music Is When Time Is Broke And No Proportion Kept! So Is It In The Music Of Men's Lives. I Wasted Time And Now Doth Time Waste Me.

The Plants Look Up To Heaven, From Whence They Have Their Nourishment.

There Are Many Events In The Womb Of Time Which Will Be Delivered.

In Thy Youth Wast As True A Lover, As Ever Sighed Upon A Midnight Pillow

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

He Capers, He Dances, He Has Eyes Of Youth, He Writes Verses, He Speaks Holiday, He Smells April And May.

The Day Shall Not Be Up So Soon As I, To Try The Fair Adventure Of Tomorrow.

Good Wine Needs No Bush.

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

There's Rosemary, That's For Remembrance; Pray You, Love, Remember: And There Is Pansies, That's For Thoughts. There's Fennel For You, And Columbines: — There 's Rue For You; And Here's Some For Me: — We May Call It, Herb Of Grace O'sundays: — You May Wear Your Rue With A Difference. — There's A Daisy: — I Would Give You Some Violets; But They Withered All, When My Father Died: — They Say, He Made A Good End.

With Mirth And Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come.

There's An Old Saying That Applies To Me: You Can't Lose A Game If You Don't Play The Game. (act 1, Scene 4)

And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

Darkness In Macbeth

Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires.

Fie, Fie, How Frantically I Square My Talk!

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

Come Not Between The Dragon And His Wrath.

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