O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past
William ShakespeareO thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.
William ShakespeareAy, 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.
William ShakespeareTalking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.
William ShakespeareHaply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of yearsโyet thatโs not muchโ Sheโs 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 othersโ uses. Yet โtis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. โTis destiny unshunnable, like death.
William Shakespeare