| Author |
Quotes |
| William Shakespeare | The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | All impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall, O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1. |
| William Shakespeare | I am sure care 's an enemy to life. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | Wherefore are these things hid? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | Is it a world to hide virtues in? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | One draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5. |
| William Shakespeare | We will draw the curtain and show you the picture. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5. |
| William Shakespeare | 'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on, Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5. |
| William Shakespeare | Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5. |
| William Shakespeare | Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | -Sir To. |
| William Shakespeare | My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3. |
| William Shakespeare | These most brisk and giddy-paced times. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4. |
| William Shakespeare | Let still the woman take An elder than herself, so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4. |
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