William Shakespeare Quotes
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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Melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
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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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Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
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His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
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When you depart from me sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.
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A light wife doth make a heavy husband.
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Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
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I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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Bear with my weakness. My old brain is troubled. Be not disturbed with my infirmity.
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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
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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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Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
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Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow.
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Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.
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From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world.
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I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her. If she be a traitor, Why, so am I. We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.
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You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense.
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Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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What a deformed thief this fashion is.
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where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
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Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.