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Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare

Год написания книги
2017
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King Richard III. – IV. 4

REPUTATION.

The purest treasure mortal times afford,
Is-spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest
I- a bold spirit in a loyal breast.

King Richard II. – I. 1

RETRIBUTION.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to scourge us.

King Lear – V. S

If these men have defeated the law,
and outrun native punishment,
though they can outstrip men,
they have no wings to fly from God.

King Henry V. – IV. 1

SCARS.

A sear nobly got, or a noble scar,
is a good livery of honor.

All’s Well that Ends Well – IV. 6

To such as boasting show their scars,
A mock is due.

Troilus and Cressida – IV. 5

SELF-CONQUEST.

Better conquest never can’st thou make,
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against those giddy loose suggestions.

King John – III. 1

SELF-EXERTION.

Men at some time are masters of their fates;
The fault is not in our stars,
But in ourselves.

Julius Caesar – I. 2

SELF-RELIANCE.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.

All’s Well that Ends Well – I. 1

SILENCE.

Out of this silence, yet I picked a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Midsummer Night’s Dream – V. 1

The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades, when speaking fails.

Winter’s Tale – II. 2

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy:
I were but little happy, if I could say how much.

Much Ado About Nothing – II. 1

SLANDER.

Slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world; kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,
This viperous slander enters.

Cymbeline – III. 4

SLEEP.

The innocent sleep;
Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,
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