William Shakespeare Quotes
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Well, honor is the subject of my story.
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From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing.
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Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won?
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The nature of bad news affects the teller.
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Be wary then; best safety lies in fear.
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A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.
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Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!
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Faith, stay here this night; they will surely do us no harm; you saw they speak us fair, give us gold; methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
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Too much to know is to know naught but fame.
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What we determine we often break. Purpose is but the slave to memory.
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No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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But since the affairs of men rests still incertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
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Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
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Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
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Love is too young to know what conscience is.
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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I almost die for food, and let me have it!
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Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast...
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The let-alone lies not in your good will.
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Conscience is a thousand swords.
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Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
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You have too much respect upon the world; They lose it that do buy it with much care
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Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
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Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.