The course of true love never did run smooth.
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Soldier, scholar, horseman, he, As 'twere all life's epitome. What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?
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Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present to live better in the future.
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The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase Even as our days do grow!
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What though the radiance which was once so bright Be not forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; Grief not, rather find, Strength in what remains behind, In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be, In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of Human suffering, In the faith that looks through death In years that bring philophic mind.
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This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.
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There’s a land where the mountains are nameless, And the rivers all run God knows where; There are lives that are erring and aimless, And deaths that just hang by a hair; There are hardships that nobody reckons; There are valleys unpeopled and still; There’s a land — oh, it beckons and beckons, And I want to go back — and I will.
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Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.
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The Moor—howbeit that I endure him not— Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,...
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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
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Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
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Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,ââ?¬â? For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf; Witches' mummy; maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark; Root of hemlock digg'd i the dark; Liver of blaspheming Jew; Gall of goat, and slips of yew Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,ââ?¬â? Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingrediants of our caldron. Fire burn, and caldron bubble.Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
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The raven chides blackness.
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From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye....
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe Thou soul is the eternity of thought That giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion Not in vain By day or star-light thus from by first dawn Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human soul, Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, But with high objects, with enduring things, With life and nature, purifying thus The elements of feeling and of thought, And sanctifying, by such discipline Both pain and fear, until we recognize A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food;...
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For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life.
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The stormy March has come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies.
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Let four captains Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage, For he was likely, had he been put on, To have proved most royally.
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I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
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Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.
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There's small choice in rotten apples.
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No legacy is so rich as honesty.
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You throw the sand against the wind And the wind blows it back again.
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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What though the radiance which was once so bright Be not forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower Strength in what remains behind, In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be, In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of Human suffering, In the faith that looks through death In years that bring philophic mind.
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From this day forward until the end of the world...we in it shall be remembered...we band of brothers.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
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