Life and Existence

How use doth breed a habit in a man!

Kiss me, Kate, we will be married o’ Sunday.

To seek their fortunes further than at home, Where small experience grows.

I come to wive it wealthily in Padua.

No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en; In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

He lives in fame that died in virtue’s cause.

Who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?

A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-ey’d, sharp-looking wretch, A living-dead man.

Why, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe. There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky.

Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway’d? Is the king dead? the empire unpossess’d?

Relenting fool, and shallow changing woman!

A grievous burden was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy.

The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom.

Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long. 4

So wise so young, they say, do never live long. 4

Lord, Lord! methought what pain it was to drown: What dreadful noise of water in mine ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wracks; A thousand men that fishes gnaw’d upon.

Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York.

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light.

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still.