This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day—and yet, I think, few come within the compass of my curse,— wherein I did not some notorious ill, as kill a man, or else devise his death, ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, accuse some innocent and forswear myself, set deadly enmity between two friends, make poor men's cattle break their necks; set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, and bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, and set them upright at their dear friends' doors, even when their sorrows almost were forgot; and on their skins, as on the bark of trees, have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things as willingly as one would kill a fly, and nothing grieves me heartily indeed but that I cannot do ten thousand more. Titus Andronicus, Act v, Scene 1
Soul |
By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death ... and let it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next. Henry IV, Part II, Act iii, Scene 2
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep in the affliction of these terrible dreams that shake us nightly. Macbeth, Act iii, Scene 2
But man, proud man, drest in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he’s most assur'd; his glassy essence, like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep. Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for, as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 'That that is is'; so, I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is 'that' but that, and 'is' but is?
Doubly porcullis'd with my teeth and lips; and dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, too far in years to be a pupil now; what is thy sentence then but speechless death which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? Richard II, Act i, Scene III
Gall |
Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not that when the searching eye of heaven is hid behind the globe, that lights the lower world, then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen in murders and in outrage boldly here; but when from under this terrestrial ball he fires the proud tops of the eastern pines and darts his light through every guilty hole, then murders, treasons, and detested sins, the cloak of night being plucked from off their backs, stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? Richard II, Act iii, Scene 2
A good way to rid one's self of a sense of discomfort is to do something. That uneasy, dissatisfied feeling is actual force vibrating out of order; it may be turned to practical account by giving proper expression to its creative character.
O Ceremony, show me but thy worth? What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men?
Anger |
O, here will I set up my everlasting rest, and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him: for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never schooled and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about.
O, good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion. As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 3.
O, let us have him, for his silver hairs will purchase us a good opinion, and buy men's voices to commend our deeds.
Books |
PETRUCHIO: It shall be what o'clock I say it is. HORENSIO: Why, so this gallant will command the sun.
Good |