Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
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Search results for Not attributed to a specific author
616 allegories found
Page 10 of 62
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What is past is prologue.
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All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
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A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
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If music be the food of love, play on.
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What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
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Parting is such sweet sorrow.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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Now is the winter of our discontent.
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Et tu, Brute?
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