William Shakespeare Quotes
-
I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.
-
So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate.
-
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
-
I am a Jew: Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with die same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?
-
You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.
-
Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
-
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
-
Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.
-
Beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.
-
It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?
-
So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.
-
For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
-
Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!
-
But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them." Viola: "Thy reason, man?" Feste: "Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.
-
He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
-
A tardiness in nature, Which often leaves the history unspoke, That it intends to do.
-
Un-thread the rude eye of rebellion, and welcome home again discarded faith.
-
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, (135) Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: (140) So excellent a king; that was, to this.
-
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
-
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere.
-
This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh!
-
I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.
-
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.
-
It is the witness still of excellency to put a strange face on his own perfection.