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Bible
As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.
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Edward Lear
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akhond of Swat?
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George Thomas Lanigan
What, what, what, What's the news from Sway? Sad news, Bad news, Comes by the cable; led Through the Indian Ocean's bed, Through the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea, and the Med.
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John Dryden
Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.
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John Milton
He's gone, and who knows how may he report Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?
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Lord Lytton
News, news, news, my gossiping friends, I have wonderful news to tell, A lady by me her compliments sends; And this is the news from Hell!
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Philip Massinger
Ill news, madam, Are swallow-winged, but what's good Walks on crutches.
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William Shakespeare
Prithee, friend, Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, The good and the bad together: he's friends with Caesar, In state of health, thou say'st, and thou say'st, free.
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William Shakespeare
Though it be honest, it is never good To bring bad news; give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.
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William Shakespeare
(Celia:) Here come Monsieur Le Beau. (Rosalind:) With his mouth full of news. (Celia:) Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. (Rosalind:) Then shall we be news-crammed.
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William Shakespeare
If't be summer news, Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st But keep that count'nance still.
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William Shakespeare
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office, and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Rememb'red tolling a departing friend.
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William Shakespeare
(Pistol:) And tidings do I bring and lucky joys And golden times and happy news of price. (Falstaff:) I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.
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William Shakespeare
Ten day ago I drowned these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befallen.
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William Shakespeare
O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
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William Shakespeare
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered, And then all this thou seest is but a clod And module of confounded royalty.
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