William Shakespeare Quotes
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One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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The love of heaven makes one heavenly.
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You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.
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Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.
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Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
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Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise; But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Yet hold I off.
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We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body.
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Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
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Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
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Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
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He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
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Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.
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I had rather eleven died nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.
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Cease thy counsel, for thy words fall into my ears as priceless as water into a seive.
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Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.
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I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
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The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
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It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance
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The morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness.
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I am sure, Though you can guess what temperance should be, You know not what it is.
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Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
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Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better; we shall be the more marketable.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?