Milton or Shakespeare?

Random Literature or Shakespeare Quiz

Can you name the Milton or Shakespeare??

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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate;
This above all: To thine own self be true.
Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foes.
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
I may assert th' Eternal Providence, And justifie the ways of God to men.
With hideous ruin and combustion, down to bottomless perdition, there to dwell in adamantine chains and penal fire,
For what can war but endless war still breed?
If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
All is not lost- the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and courage never to submit or yield:
When shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain?
No nightly trace or breathed spell, inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
I am a man more sinned against than sinning
As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods, they kill us for their sport.
QuoteAuthorWork
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled.
When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide
So farewell, hope; and with hope farewell, fear; farewell, remorse: all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good.
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.
The course of true love never did run smooth
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, for as you were when first your eye I ey'd, such seems your beauty still.
With diadem and sceptre high advanced, the lower still I fall, only supreme in misery: such joy ambition finds.
Frail is our happiness, if this be so, and Eden were no Eden, thus exposed.
This other Eden, demi-paradise, this fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
For what God, after better, worse would build?
To die, to sleep- to sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon; the world was all before them, where to choose their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
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.

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Created Aug 6, 2012Editor's PickReportNominate
Tags:author, quote, Shakespeare, milton