Emotions and Feelings

Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life’s key: be check’d for silence, But never tax’d for speech.

Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life’s key: be check’d for silence, But never tax’d for speech.

It were all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me.

I hate ingratitude more in a man Than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness, Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption Inhabits our frail blood.

Out of my lean and low ability I’ll lend you something.

O! what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip.

O! what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip.

How apt the poor are to be proud.

This fellow’s wise enough to play the fool, And to do that well craves a kind of wit.

Duke: And what’s her history? Viola: A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

Duke: And what’s her history? Viola: A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are: Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is belov’d.

O mistress mine! where are you roaming?

Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house.

Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, “Olivia!”

O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou, That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe’er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical.

O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou, That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe’er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical.

If music be the food of love, 37 play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O! it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor!

Fie, fie upon her! There’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.

The kiss you take is better than you give.

You do as chapmen do, Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy.

My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d; And I myself see not the bottom of it.

For honor travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.