William Shakespeare Quotes
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There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
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Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
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Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?" Malvolio: "Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art." Feste: "But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in you wits than a fool.
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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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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When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.
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With love's light wings did I o'er–perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out.
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I love thee; none but thee, and thou deservest it.
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Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
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Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
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The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.
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In love the heavens themselves do guide the state; Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
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The best is yet to come.
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Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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Good with out evil is like light with out darkness which in turn is like righteousness whith out hope.
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But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them." Viola: "Thy reason, man?" Feste: "Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.
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He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
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Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!
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There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered.
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England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune.
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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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Contention, like a horse, Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him.
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.