William Shakespeare Quotes
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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.
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Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
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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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The thing of courage As rous'd with rage doth sympathise, And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key, Retorts to chiding fortune.
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If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.
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Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find.
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In nature there's no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.
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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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I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting.
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There was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.
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This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, this Senior Junior, giant dwarf...Cupid.
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He makes a July's day short as December.
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And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
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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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I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.
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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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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.