William Shakespeare Quotes
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Good wombs have borne bad sons." -- (Miranda, I:2)
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Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopped, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say amen!
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I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
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Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
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In nature's infinite book of secrecy A little I can read.
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Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
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For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.
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We must not stint Our necessary actions in the fear To cope malicious censurers, which ever, As rav'nous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimmed, but benefit no further Than vainly longing.
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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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Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
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Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.
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When I waked, I cried to dream again
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Honesty is not the best policy - merely the safest
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Our very eyes Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind.
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God mark thee to His grace! Thou was the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. And might I live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
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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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The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
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The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
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What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time?
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Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.
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Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
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Mercutio: "If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
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Give me a bowl of wine, In this I bury all unkindness.
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Mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view.