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Стр. 194 - God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world ! Fie on't ! ah fie ! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely.
Стр. 198 - Our revels now are ended... These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air, And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind: we are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep..
Стр. 80 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sun-set fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Стр. 81 - When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope...
Стр. 276 - He giveth snow like wool : He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. He casteth forth his ice like morsels : Who can stand before his cold? He sendeth out his word, and melteth them: He causeth his wind to blow, and the waters flow.
Стр. 188 - A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers...
Стр. 69 - I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me! I am myself alone.
Стр. 310 - To speak moderately, I truly confess it is beyond the ken of my understanding to conceive how those women should have any true grace, or valuable...
Стр. 402 - Force should be right ; or rather, right and wrong (Between whose endless jar justice resides) Should lose their names, and so should Justice too. Then everything includes itself in power, Power into will, will into appetite ; And appetite, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey, And last, eat up himself.
Стр. 193 - Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth doth murder sleep' . . . The innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.