William Shakespeare Quotes
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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
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And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.
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My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
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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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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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I speak of peace, while covert enmity under the smile of safety wounds the world
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The bay-trees in our country are all withered, And meteors fright the fixèd stars of heaven. The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change. Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap; The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other to enjoy by rage and war. These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
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Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper, as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence, But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor - Both thanks and use.
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What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours.
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Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and defy the foul fiend.
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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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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.
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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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I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
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O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.
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Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
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As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd Or Night kept chain'd below.
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All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
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The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
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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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These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
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I love thee, and it is my love that speaks.
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Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind.