half (n.)
- allotment
- allowance
- bisection
- bit
- bite
- budget
- chunk
- commission
- contingent
- cut
- deal
- destiny
- dividend
- dole
- end
- equal
- fate
- half-and-half
- helping
- hemisphere
- interest
- lot
- measure
- mediety
- meed
- mess
- midway
- modicum
- moiety
- part
- partial
- particular
- percentage
- piece
- portion
- proportion
- proportional
- quantum
- quota
- rake-off
- ration
- segment
- semicircle
- share
- slice
- stake
- stock
half (adv.)
half (adj.)
- bit
- budget
- contingent
- cut
- deal
- distributional
- distributive
- end
- equal
- fifty-fifty
- half-and-half
- halfway
- interest
- lot
- midway
- part
- partial
- particular
- piece
- proportional
- proportionate
- ration
- respective
- several
- stock
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years.
But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we,
Half dust, half deity, alike unfit
To sink or soar.
Fools! they know not how much half exceeds the whole.
Pittacus said that half was more than the whole.
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt.
As half in shade and half in sun
This world along its path advances,
May that side the sun's upon
Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances!
I have not the Chancellor's encyclopedic mind. He is indeed a kind of semi-Solomon. He half knows everything, from the cedar to the hyssop.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,—
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
My dear, my better half.
In vain sedate reflections we would make
When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take.
He is the half part of a blessed man,
Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free.
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.
Then I began to think that it is very true which is commonly said, that the one half of the world knoweth not how the other half liveth.
Too civil by half.
America! half-brother of the world!
With something good and bad of every land.
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.
O, monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,—how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.
A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
Forever flushing round a summer sky:
There eke the soft delights that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,
And the calm pleasures always hover'd nigh;
But whate'er smack'd of noyance or unrest
Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest.
Coffee, which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.
Now o'er the one half-world
Nature seems dead.
