William Shakespeare Quotes
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A hit, a very palpable hit.
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Love sees with the heart and not with mind.
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O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
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Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
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This day I breathed first: time is come round, And where I did begin there shall I end; My life is run his compass.
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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! 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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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!
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I have trod a measure, I have flattered a lady, I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy.
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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
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I heard a bird so sing, Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.
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Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
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Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.
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If money go before, all ways do lie open.
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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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Nothing can come of nothing.
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To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
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Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.
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Let each man do his best.
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But there is no such man; for, brother, men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words.
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From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
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In right and service to their noble country.
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Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.