O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
William ShakespeareAnd this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
William ShakespeareThough those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe
William ShakespeareBut, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! Oh, that she knew she were!
William Shakespeare