William Shakespeare Quotes
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Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by.
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He makes a July's day short as December.
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O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.
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I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
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Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.
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I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
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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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In friendship, as in love, we are often happier through our ignorance than our knowledge.
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And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
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So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend, or be rid on't.
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When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.
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I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear.
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This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.
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All offences come from the heart.
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Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
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It is not vain glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber.
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He that dies pays all debts.
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The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
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I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!
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Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.
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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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One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
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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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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.