William Shakespeare Quotes
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Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
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Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
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Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
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In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
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Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny. It hath been Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings.
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There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
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Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.
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To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.
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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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Greatness knows itself.
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Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
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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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How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
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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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Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!
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Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.
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Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
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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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I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
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If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.
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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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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 must not think That we are made of stuff so fat and dull That we can let our beard be shook with danger And think it pastime.