William Shakespeare Quotes
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Give me a bowl of wine, In this I bury all unkindness.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
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Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
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Our very eyes Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind.
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The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
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What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
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[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
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Et tu Brute! (You too, Brutus!)
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Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
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Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.
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Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.
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I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book! William Shakespeare
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A very honest woman but something given to lie
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I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
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Let the galled jade wince; our withers are unwrung.
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Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste.
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To do a great right do a little wrong.
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Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.
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I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
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After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!