William Shakespeare Quotes
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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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On a day - alack the day! - Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air
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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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LEONATO Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. BEATRICE Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a pierce of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.
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Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves.
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To persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness: 'tis unmanly grief.
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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Now I will believe that there are unicorns.
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Well-apparel'd April on the heel Of limping Winter treads.
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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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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.
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My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.
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Reflection is the business of man; a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in joy? Is it not in mercy then that sorrow is allotted unto us?
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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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Where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt.
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I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
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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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At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.
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A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in.
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Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
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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)