William Shakespeare Quotes
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When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
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All's well if all ends well.
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For I am nothing if not critical.
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You kiss by th' book.
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I wonder that you will still be talking. Nobody marks you.
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The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.
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What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*
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Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
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Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.
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He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.
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And makes me poor indeed.
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Costly thy habit [dress] as thy purse can buy; But not expressed in fancy - rich, not gaudy. For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
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A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.
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Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!
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Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction * * * I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience.
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Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure.
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Virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
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Pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision.
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There is a river in Macedon, and there is moreover a river in Monmouth. It is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.
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Things may serve long, but not serve ever.
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Be wary then; best safety lies in fear.
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Time is a very bankrupt and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say, That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
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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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Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!