William Shakespeare Quotes
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And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.
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Women being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the walls.
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Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
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O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
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Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act.
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Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
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Then with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seem foul to those that win.
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My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
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Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
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My heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand.
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'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
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The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
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I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
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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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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
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The seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest.
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O, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought Put on for villainy, not born where't grows, But worn a bait for ladies.
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Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
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Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.
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Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
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Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
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Now is the winter of our discontent.