William Shakespeare Quotes
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What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.
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Live loath'd and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time flies Cap and knee slaves, vapors, and minute jacks.
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O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle.
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I am sure care's an enemy to life.
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He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
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I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine.
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She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.
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I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
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These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
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We see which way the stream of time doth run.
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There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
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One sin, I know, another doth provoke. Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke.
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In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; . . . . Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
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Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
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Out, damned spot! out, I say! One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky!
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Thou lump of foul deformity!
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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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The best is yet to come.
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I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme. . .
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Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
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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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Yet, do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.
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What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?