William Shakespeare Quotes
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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.
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This is the short and the long of it.
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An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England.
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Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.
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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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Nature's tears are reason's merriment.
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Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, when time is old and hath forgot itself, when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, and blind oblivion swallowed cities up, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, yet let memory, from false to false, among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!
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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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'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.
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The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
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Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?
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And she's fair I love.
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Love is a wonderful, terrible thing.
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An envious fever of pale and bloodless emulation.
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Thou lump of foul deformity!
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Crowns have their compass-length of days their date- Triumphs their tomb-felicity, her fate- Of nought but earth can earth make us partaker, But knowledge makes a king most like his Maker.
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What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.
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wert thou as far As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise.
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There is a devilish mercy in the judge, if you'll implore it, that will free your life, but fetter you till death.
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So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
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Mine eyes smell onions: I shall weep anon.
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Yet, do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.
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Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.