William Shakespeare Quotes
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He makes a July's day short as December.
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Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.
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Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong, bell.
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The villany you teach me I shall execute; and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.
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To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights; If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; If lost, why then a grievous labour won; However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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Love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit.
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And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
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The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice.
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Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.
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Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
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What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.
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Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.
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So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
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Self – love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self – neglecting.
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There's small choice in rotten apples.
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Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd; Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.
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O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. - Romeo -
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God defend me from that Welsh fairy, Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!
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Though justice be thy plea consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation.
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'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck!