William Shakespeare Quotes
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'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.
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Love is a wonderful, terrible thing.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
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What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say
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If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day an unaccustomed spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.
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It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions.
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So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
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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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A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
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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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I that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error.
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GLOUCESTER: I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night: I thank my God for my humility.
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Were I the Moor I would not be Iago. In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. I am not what I am
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This is the short and the long of it.
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She is mine own, And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
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Jesters do oft prove prophets.
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Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
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Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.
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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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He that keeps not crust nor crum Weary of all, shall want some.
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Be as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee.