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All's bear beauty better blood breath cause Cleo comes Coriolanus Cress Cymbeline death deeds devil doth Dream earth Errors eyes face fair fall fault fear fellow fire fool fortune friends give grace grief grow Hamlet hand hast hath head hear heart heaven Henry IV Henry VI Henry VIII hold honest honour hope hour Julius Cæsar keep kind King John King Lear leave light live look Lost Love's Love's L Macbeth means Meas Merry Wives mind nature never Night Othello poor Richard Richard III Romeo and Juliet Shrew sleep soul speak spirit stand sweet tell Tempest thee thing thou thou art thought Timon of Athens tongue Troi true turn Twelfth Night Venice Verona Winter's Tale
85. oldal - I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me, My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.
346. oldal - The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
476. oldal - Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear. The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
477. oldal - That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
332. oldal - I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er. Strange things I have in head that will to hand, Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.
373. oldal - Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o
298. oldal - And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
306. oldal - Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt.
14. oldal - I have taken note of it; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. — How long hast thou been a grave-maker? FIRST CLO. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our last King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras.