William Shakespeare Quotes
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Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast.
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There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
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Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
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Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
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Nature's tears are reason's merriment.
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Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
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Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
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Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.
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The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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Tam: What begg’st thou then? fond woman, let me go. Lav: ’Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell. O! keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man’s eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. Tam: So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. Dem: Away! for thou hast stay’d us here too long. Lav: No grace! no womanhood! Ah, beastly creature, The blot and enemy to our general name. Confusion fall—
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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.
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He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.
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This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
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For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
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Mine eyes smell onions: I shall weep anon.
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Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.
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They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together.
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Good reasons must of force give place to better.
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Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and therefore more frailty.
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O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
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Out of her favour, where I am in love.
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Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.