Відгуки відвідувачів - Написати рецензію
Не знайдено жодних рецензій.
Інші видання - Показати все
Quotations from Shakespeare, a Collection of Passages Selected and Arranged ...
Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2015
arms bear beauty become better blood blow brain break breath bring Brutus Cæsar comes dead dear death deed deep devil doth dream Duke earth eyes face fair fall Farewell father faults fear fire fool fortune friends gentle give gold grace grief hand hang hath head hear heart heaven HENRY honour horse hour kind King Lady leave less lies light Line live look lord Macb means mind nature never night once peace play poor Prince reason rich sense sing sleep SONG soul speak spirit stand strange suffer sweet tell thee There's thief thing thou thou hast thought tongue touch true truth turn virtue wear wind wise woman wrong youth
Сторінка 108 - Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones ; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, — For Brutus is an honourable man ; So are they all, all honourable men, — Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
Сторінка 43 - 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 ! Enough ; no more : 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Сторінка 141 - I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it ; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth scapes i...
Сторінка 110 - This was the noblest Roman of them all; All the conspirators save only he Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, 'This was a man!
Сторінка 120 - gainst self-slaughter! O God ! O God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden. That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely.
Сторінка 79 - Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing ; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.
Сторінка 145 - O now, for ever, Farewell the tranquil mind ! Farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner ; and all quality. Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! And O, you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! lago.
Сторінка 33 - 11 begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell. Bass. So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
Сторінка 148 - Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Сторінка 108 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.