William Shakespeare Quotes
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The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
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My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
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it is my lady! *sighs* o, it is my love! o, that she knew she were! she speaks, yet she sais nothing. what of that? her eye discourses; i will answer it. i am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks; two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return.
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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
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I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
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If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.
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All offences come from the heart.
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Your worm is your only emperor for diet; we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.
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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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Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.
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Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.
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Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.
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The means that heaven yields must be embraced, and not neglected; else, if heaven would, and we will not heaven's offer, we refuse the proffered means of succor and redress.
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No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
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The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.
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We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.
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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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We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
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Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
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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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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.