William Shakespeare Quotes
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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
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When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.
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Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.
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Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.
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Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavor of this present breath may buy That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.
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Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator.
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The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
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God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts into one.
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Look, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east! Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops.
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For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg.
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Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
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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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This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler; and retails his wares.
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I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.
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This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.
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The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
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Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast.
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It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
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I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.
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Thy words, I grant are bigger, for I wear not, my dagger in my mouth.
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It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.
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I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
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My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind; So flew'd, so sanded; their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.