This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
As merry as the day is long. Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 1.
And as the butcher takes away the calf and binds the wretch and beats it when it strains, bearing it to the bloody slaughterhouse, even so remorseless have they borne him hence; and as the dam runs lowing up and down, looking the way her harmless young one went, and can do naught but wail her darling's loss, even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case with said unhelpful tears, and with dimmed eyes Look after him and cannot do him good, So mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.' King Henry VI, Part II, Act iii
Imagination | Nothing |
CALIBAN: Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven? STEPHANO: Out o' th' moon, I do assure thee; I was the Man i' th' Moon, when time was. CALIBAN: I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress show'd me thee, and thy dog and thy bush. The Tempest, Act ii, Scene 2
Mother |
Come leave your tears: a brief farewell. The beast with many heads butts me away.
But wander on, till truth makes all things plain. A Midsummer Night's Dream
Cold indeed, and labor lost: then farewell heat, and welcome frost!
Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair. The Tragedy of King Richard the Second (Salisbury at III, ii)
Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; then, for the third part of a minute, hence-- Some to kill canters in the musk-rose buds, some war with reremice for their leathren wings, to make my small elves coats, and some keep back the clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders at our quaint spirits.
Day |
Dwell I but in the suburbs of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. Julius Caesar, Act ii, Scene 1
Dead is noble Timon, of whose memory hereafter more. Bring me into your city, and I will use the olive with my sword, make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each prescribe to other, as each other's leech. Let our drums strike. Timon of Athens, Act v, Scene 4
Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound. Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me, but let them hear what fearful words I utter. O villains, Chiron and Demetrius! Here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud, this goodly summer with your winter mixed. You killed her husband, and for that vile fault two of her brothers were condemned to death, my hand cut off and made a merry jest; both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear than hands our tongue, her spotless chastity, inhuman traitors, you constrained and forced. What would you say if I should let you speak? Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. This one hand yet is left to cut your throats whiles that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold the basin that receives your guilty blood. You know your mother means to feast with me, and calls herself revenge, and thinks me mad. Hark, villains, I will grind your bones to dust, and with your blood and it I'll make a paste, and of the paste a coffin I will rear, and make two pasties of your shameful heads, and bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam, like to the earth, swallow her own increase. This is the feast that I have bid her to, and this the banquet she shall surfeit on; for worse than Philomel you used my daughter, and worse than Progne I will be revenged. And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come, receive the blood; and when that they are dead, let me go grind their bones to powder small and with this hateful liquor temper it; and in that paste let their vile heads be baked. Come, come, be every one officious to make this banquet, which I wish may prove more stern and bloody than the Centaur's feast. Titus Andronicus, Act v, Scene 2
Discretion is the better part of valour. [The better part of valour is discretion.] Henry IV, Part I, Act v, Scene 4
O my Bergson, you are a magician, and your book is a marvel, a real wonder in the history of philosophy . . . In finishing it I found . . . such a flavor of persistent euphony, as of a rich river that never foamed or ran thin, but steadily and firmly proceeded with its banks full to the brim.
Age | Chance | Disease | Good | Habit | Hate | Life | Life | Little | Luxury | People | Thinking | Time | Will | Learn | Think |
Consider how the desperate fight; despair strikes wild,--but often fatal too-- and in the mad encounter wins success.
Human beings are born into this little span of life of which the best thing is its friendship and intimacies, and soon their places will know them no more, and yet they leave their friendships and intimacies with no cultivation, to grow as they will… and yet they leave their friendships and intimacies with no cultivation, to grow as they will by the roadside, expecting them to "keep" by force of mere inertia.