Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
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Search results for Persian Poets, Jewish Folklore
74 allegories found
Page 4 of 8
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O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
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Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.
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How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
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The quality of mercy is not strain'd, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.
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They stumble that run fast.
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Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
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"Through me the way is to the city of woe, through me the way is to eternal pain, through me the way among the lost people."
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And then we emerged to see the stars again.
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To run upon better waters now hoists sail the little vessel of my genius, leaving behind itself a sea so cruel.
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