William Shakespeare Quotes
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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.
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O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.
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Brevity is the soul of wit.
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There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
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Thus did I keep my person fresh and new, My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne'er seen but wondered at, and so my state, Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast.
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These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
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Thou lump of foul deformity!
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Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!
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This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
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Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
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He was not so much brain as earwax
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Love is a wonderful, terrible thing.
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Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!
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Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopped, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say amen!
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I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish th' estate o' th' world were now undone.
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This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
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Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.
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The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
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And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
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There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.
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O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
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Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.