William Shakespeare Quotes
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Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.
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To persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness: 'tis unmanly grief.
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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.
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There's small choice in rotten apples.
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O, full of scorpions is my mind!
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Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
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Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
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So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
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O, the difference of man and man! To thee a woman's services are due.
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I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
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Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
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He's a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.
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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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My heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand.
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More matter with less art.
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Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
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The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is called The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To th' bottom of the worst.
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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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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For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg.
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Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
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I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)
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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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A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.