William Shakespeare Quotes
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Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.
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I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
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A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't.
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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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Better be with the dead, Whom we to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.
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But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me?" Catherine: "I cannot tell." Henry: "Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.
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Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have To wear away this long age of three hours Between our after-supper and bedtime?
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There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
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Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
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Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct.
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What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
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'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.
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You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day.
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Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.
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Woe to that land that's governed by a child.
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Hot blood begets hot thoughts, And hot thoughts beget Hot deeds, And hot deeds is love.
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Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.
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I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste their valor.
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Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
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The summer's flow'r is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die' But if that flow'r with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
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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.