William Shakespeare Quotes
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Is she not passing fair?
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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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The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
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The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.
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Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
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Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.
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You speak like a green girl / unsifted in such perilous circumstances.
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Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
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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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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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The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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The apparel oft proclaims the man.
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Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.
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If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not
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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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With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.
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As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.
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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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O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!
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In friendship, as in love, we are often happier through our ignorance than our knowledge.
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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.
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Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.
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I am never merry when I hear sweet music.