Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2. Polonius.
Modern version:
“You may wonder if the stars are fire, You may wonder if the sun moves across the sky. You may wonder if the truth is a liar, But never wonder if I love.”
#EnglishWriters
Where art thou, Muse, that thou f… To speak of that which gives thee… Spend’st thou thy fury on some wor… Darkening thy power to lend base s… Return, forgetful Muse, and strai…
Enobarbus describes Queen Cleopat… Enobarbus: I will tell you. The barge she sat in, like a burni… Burned on the water: the poop was… Purple the sails, and so perfumed…
What is your substance, whereof ar… That millions of strange shadows o… Since every one hath, every one, o… And you, but one, can every shadow… Describe Adonis, and the counterf…
Some say thy fault is youth, some… Some say thy grace is youth and ge… Both grace and faults are loved of… Thou mak’st faults graces that to… As on the finger of a thronèd quee…
Like as the waves make towards the… So do our minutes hasten to their… Each changing place with that whic… In sequent toil all forwards do co… Nativity, once in the main of ligh…
My love is as a fever, longing sti… For that which longer nurseth the… Feeding on that which doth preserv… The uncertain sickly appetite to p… My reason, the physician to my lov…
Not marble, nor the gilded monumen… Of princes, shall outlive this pow… But you shall shine more bright in… Than unswept stone besmear’d with… When wasteful war shall statues ov…
Why didst thou promise such a beau… And make me travel forth without m… To let base clouds o’ertake me in… Hiding thy brav’ry in their rotten… 'Tis not enough that through the c…
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven’s… Â Â Â And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those sprin… Â Â Â On chaliced flowers that lie… And winking Mary-buds begin
When in the chronicle of wasted ti… I see descriptions of the fairest… And beauty making beautiful old rh… In praise of ladies dead, and love… Then, in the blazon of sweet beaut…
No more be grieved at that which t… Roses have thorns, and silver foun… Clouds and eclipses stain both moo… And loathsome canker lives in swee… All men make faults, and even I i…
So is it not with me as with that… Stirred by a painted beauty to his… Who heaven it self for ornament do… And every fair with his fair doth… Making a couplement of proud compa…
Enter Chorus O for a Muse of fire, that would… The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to… And monarchs to behold the swellin…
THAT time of year thou may’st in… When yellow leaves, or none, or fe… Upon those boughs which shake agai… Bare ruin’d choirs where late the… In me thou see’st the twilight of…