Parting is such sweet sorrow.
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Search results for England
144 allegories found
Page 5 of 15
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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This above all: to thine own self be true.
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Now is the winter of our discontent.
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Et tu, Brute?
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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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A little more than kin, and less than kind.
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All that glisters is not gold.
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The course of true love never did run smooth.
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Beware the Ides of March.
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