William Shakespeare Quotes
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Were all the letters sun, I could not see one.
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Truth hath a quiet breast.
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You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes; still am I King of those.
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The prize of all too precious you.
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Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
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His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; his tears pure messengers sent from his heart; his heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth
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No evil lost is wailed when it is gone.
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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
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Time is the king of men.
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Time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop.
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Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
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Make passionate my sense of hearing.
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...an old man is twice a child.
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Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone.
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Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish her election, Sh'ath sealed thee for herself.
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O for a horse with wings!
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Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.
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If by chance I talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father.
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If I lose my honor, I lose myself: better I were not yours Than yours so branchless.
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Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.
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Either to die the death or to abjure For ever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires; Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, You can endure the livery of a nun, For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood, To undergo such maiden pilgrimage; But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.
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Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day.
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The curse of marriage That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites!
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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.