“There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.”
Sad feeling
Sad Quotes — page 210 of 475
“We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.”
“The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.”
“It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.”
“Ay me! sad hours seem long.”
“How low am I, thou painted maypole?”
“How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?”
“So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.”
“But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.”
“We are not the first Who with best meaning have incurred the worst”
“He was too good to be Where ill men were, and was the best of all Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, Fairness which strikes the eye- CYMBELINE.”
“Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypres let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid.”
“That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.”
“What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.”
“Fear and niceness, the handmaids of all women, or more truly, woman its pretty self.”
“He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.”
“There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook.”
“You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.”
“What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?”
“she shall scant show well that now shows best.”