William Shakespeare Quotes
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
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Greatness knows itself.
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To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.
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Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
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They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
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Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
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Though those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
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Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
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Justice always whirls in equal measure.
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To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand; therefore, if tou art mov'd, thou runst away. (To be angry is to move, to be brave is to stand still. Therefore, if you're angry, you'll run away.)
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Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
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Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
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And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
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Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
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Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.
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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
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Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
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To saucy doubts and fears.
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I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
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Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins.
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Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.