I understand a fury in your words
But not your words.
Tag: feelings william-shakespeare fury othello
Todo el mundo es un escenario.
William ShakespeareTag: shakespeare
o, never shall sun that morrow see
William ShakespeareSince my dear soul was mistress of her choice
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal’d thee for herself; for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,
A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards
Hast ta’en with equal thanks: and blest are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him
In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.
Sometime [Queen Mab] driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
Who else would soar above the view of men
And keep us all in servile fearfulness.
He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health,
a boy's love, or a whore's oath.
Tag: wolves boy-s-love whore-s-oath
Ela teria de morrer, mais cedo ou mais tarde. Morta. Mais tarde haveria um tempo para essa palavra. Amanhã, e amanhã, e ainda outro amanhã arrastam-se nessa passada trivial do dia para a noite, da noite para o dia, até a última sílaba do registro dos tempos. E todos os nossos ontens não fizeram mais que iluminar para os tolos o caminho que leva ao pó da morte. Apaga-te, apaga-te, chama breve! A vida não passa de uma sombra que caminha, um pobre ator que se pavoneia e se aflige sobre o palco - faz isso por uma hora e, depois, não se escuta mais sua voz. É uma história contada por um idiota, cheia de som e fúria e vazia de significado.
William ShakespeareTag: meaning-of-life
All is fair in love and war
William ShakespeareHow now, spirit! Whither wander you?
William ShakespeareTag: puck
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