William Shakespeare Quotes
-
To whom God will, there be the victory.
-
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
-
Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
-
Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
-
Women being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the walls.
-
We that are true lovers run into strange capers.
-
Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?" Malvolio: "Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art." Feste: "But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in you wits than a fool.
-
Well-apparel'd April on the heel Of limping Winter treads.
-
Let the galled jade wince; our withers are unwrung.
-
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
-
Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.
-
My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
-
When the sea was calm all ships alike showed mastership in floating.
-
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.
-
Sit by my side, and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger.
-
Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.
-
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?
-
I am wealthy in my friends.
-
A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
-
My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except.
-
The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
-
A turn or two I'll walk To still my beating mind.
-
Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.
-
Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love