William Shakespeare Quotes
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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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Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd; Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.
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You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.
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I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.
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Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man.
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Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article." --Othello, Act III, Scene iii
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Heaven give you many, many merry days.
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I'll look to like; if looking, liking move.
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Like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks.
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Thou frothy tickle-brained hedge-pig!
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Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!
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Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring?
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The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
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Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.
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The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.
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When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swollen face?
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If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
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Lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.
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To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
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A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
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A good heart 'is worth gold.
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Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
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Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
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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.