The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend b...ecomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Raise your eyes and count the small gang of your oppressors who are only strong through the blood they suck from you and through y...our arms which you lend them unwillingly.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
My object all sublime I shall achieve in time-- To let the punishment fit the crime-- The punishment fit the crime; And mak...e each prisoner pent Unwillingly represent A source of innocent merriment! Of innocent merriment!LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
There are few things that we so unwillingly give up, even in advanced age, as the supposition that we still have the power of ingr...atiating ourselves with the fair sex.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Whoever knows he is deep tries to be clear, but whoever wants to seem deep to the crowd tries to be obscure. For the crowd suppose...s that anything it cannot see to the bottom must be deep: it is so timid and goes so unwillingly into the water.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players.... They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »