William Shakespeare Quotes
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There's small choice in rotten apples.
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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet fondly loves!
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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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I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face.
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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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What else may hap, to time I will commit.
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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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Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry
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Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.
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O, full of scorpions is my mind!
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To whom God will, there be the victory.
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Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
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Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn.
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Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
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O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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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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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
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Where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt.
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Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.
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Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.
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Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.
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My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.