William Shakespeare Quotes
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You are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear Than to work any.
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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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The love of heaven makes one heavenly.
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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
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And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
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This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star.
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An overflow of good converts to bad.
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Who can control his fate?
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Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
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Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle; I am no traitor's uncle, and that word "grace" In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
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I am sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.
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Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better; we shall be the more marketable.
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My endeavors Have ever come too short of my desires. Yet filed with my abilities.
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Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
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I love thee, and it is my love that speaks.
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I'll be at charges for a looking-glass And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favor with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost.
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There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is.
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All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.
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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall with our English dead.
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How my achievements mock me!
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So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.