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No, Cassius for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Things
Cassius
Sees
Reflection
Eye
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Allow not nature more than nature needs.
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Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt he owes For every word.
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And simple truth miscalled simplicity
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Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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Hope is a lover's staff walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
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Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
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There is none but he Whose being I do fear and under him My genius is rebuked, as it is said Mark Antony's was by Caesar.
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Let's take the instant by the forward top For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them.
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Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
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Wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.
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Light seeking light doth light of light beguile: So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
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Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.
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It is the mind that makes the body rich and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honor peereth in the meanest habit.
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Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court?
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Wishers were ever fools.
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Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.
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Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
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Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.
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Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.
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