“How is it that the clouds still hang on you?”
Inspired feeling
Inspired Quotes — page 148 of 313
“Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.”
“A very honest woman but something given to lie”
“If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.”
“To persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness: 'tis unmanly grief.”
“I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting.”
“O wretched state! o bosom black as death!”
“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.”
“As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have; but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not" (5.3.25-28).”
“O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !”
“If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.”
“A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry. But were we burd'ned with like weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me; But if thou live to see like right bereft, This fool-begged patience in thee will be left.”
“The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst, 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!”
“Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.”
“But love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offense, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.”
“This day I breathed first: time is come round, And where I did begin there shall I end; My life is run his compass.”
“What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To wash it white as snow?”
“Here I and sorrows sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.”
“There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable.”
“Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.”