bones (n.)
- anatomy
- ashes
- battery
- being
- bells
- body
- bosom
- breast
- cadaver
- carcass
- carrion
- castanets
- celesta
- chaff
- chime
- clappers
- clay
- clod
- corpse
- corpus
- craps
- crowbait
- culm
- cymbals
- deadwood
- decedent
- dice
- die
- dishwater
- dregs
- dust
- earth
- esprit
- exoskeleton
- figure
- flesh
- form
- frame
- gamelan
- garbage
- gash
- glockenspiel
- gong
- guts
- heart
- heartstrings
- hogwash
- hulk
- lees
- lyra
- maraca
- marimba
- mummification
- mummy
- offal
- orts
- percussion
- person
- physique
- rattle
- refuse
- remains
- scraps
- scum
- shavings
- skeleton
- slack
- slag
- slop
- slops
- soma
- soul
- spirit
- stiff
- stubble
- swill
- tam-tam
- tares
- teeth
- torso
- triangle
- trunk
- vibes
- vibraphone
- viscera
- wastage
- waste
- weeds
- xylophone
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee: I 'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Cursed be he that moves my bones.
Many count their chickens before they are hatched; and where they expect bacon, meet with broken bones.
Whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.
What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,—
The labour of an age in piled stones?
Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid
Under a star-y-pointing pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Made no more bones.
Meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones.
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellions hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
And reason panders will.
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
Rattle his bones over the stones!
He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!
I may tell all my bones.
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye:
Give him a little earth for charity!
"Heat, ma'am!" I said; "it was so dreadful here, that I found there was nothing left for it but to take off my flesh and sit in my bones."
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones,
Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones.
Fill all thy bones with aches.
