Emotions and Feelings

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?

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

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

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!

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.

The kiss you take is better than you give.

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.

As many farewells as be stars in heaven.

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

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

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

Time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretch’d, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing.

Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery.

I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.

I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.

I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.

’Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.