Every why hath a wherefore.

A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, muddy,<br /> ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.

My tongue will tell the anger of mine heart, Or else my heart, concealing it, will break.

Exit, pursued by a bear.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought<br /> I summon up remembrance of things past,<br /> I sigh the lack of many things I sought,<br /> And with old...

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes...<br /> Haply I think on thee, and then my state,<br /> Like to the lark at break of day arising<br /> From...

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?<br /> Thou art more lovely and more temperate:<br /> Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,<br /> And summer's...

Nothing 'gainst Times scythe can make defence.

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long.

That time of year thou may'st in me behold,<br /> When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang<br /> Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,-<br...

Ruin has taught me to ruminate,<br /> That Time will come and take my love away.<br /> This thought is as a death, which cannot choose<br /> But weep to have...

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end.

Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,<br /> And broils root out the work of masonry,<br /> Nor Mars his sword nor wars quick fire shall burn<br /> The...

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;<br /> Coral is far more red than her lips' red...<br /> I love to hear her speak, yet well I know<br /> That...

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks<br /> Within his bending sickle's compass come;<br /> Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,<br...

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments: love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : O, no! it is an ever...

Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br /> Admit impediments: love is not love<br /> Which alters when it alteration finds.

My reason, the physician to my love, angry that his prescriptions are not kept, hath left me.