William Shakespeare Quotes
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Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
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To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
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You speak like a green girl / unsifted in such perilous circumstances.
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Make use of time, let not advantage slip; Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time.
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What a fool honesty is.
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For now I stand as one upon a rock environed with a wilderness of sea, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting ever when some envious surge will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
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Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.
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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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If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
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So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
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Hereditary sloth instructs me.
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Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.
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The icy precepts of respect.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up tine, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.
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Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.
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Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
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I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
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Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
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I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
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Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!
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It provokes the desire but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him; it sets him on and it takes him off.
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Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
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If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.