English Playwright, Poet, Most widely known Writer in English Literature
Stars, stars! And all eyes else dead coals.
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, for suff'rance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cutthroat dog, and spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, and all for use of that which is mine own. Merchant of Venice, Act i, Scene 3
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, that will not be deep searched with saucy looks; small have continual plodders ever won, save base authority from others' books.
Surely, sir, there's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; for, being not propped by ancestry, whose grace chalks successors their way, nor called upon for high feats done to th' crown, neither allied to eminent assistants, but spiderlike out of his self-drawing web, 'a gives us note, the force of his own merit makes his way, a gift that heaven gives for him, which buys a place next to the king.
Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend.