William Shakespeare Quotes
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The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants.
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Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions
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Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.
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Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.
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The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately – long love doth so.
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Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.
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Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
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We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
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I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip
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When you fear a foe, fear crushes your strength; and this weakness gives strength to your opponents.
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Nothing comes from doing nothing.
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Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
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This thing of darkness I acknowlege mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in.
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A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
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Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath.
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I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
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I am wrapped in dismal thinking.
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The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
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Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are!
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Truth is truth to the end of reckoning.
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When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something for the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
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A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?
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Dirty days hath September April June and November From January up to May The rain it raineth every day All the rest have thirty-one Without a blessed gleam of sun And if any of them had two-and-thirty They'd be just as wet and twice as dirty." "April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.