William Shakespeare Quotes
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O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labor.
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And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.
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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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Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone.
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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
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Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.
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For the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general; And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large.
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Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.
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Give me a bowl of wine, In this I bury all unkindness.
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The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
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For what is wedlock forced but a hell, An age of discord and continual strife? Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, And is a pattern of celestial peace.
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To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
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What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time?
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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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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.
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Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.
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When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
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O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
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I have not slept one wink.
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When I waked, I cried to dream again
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Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency?
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I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
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Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.