William Shakespeare Quotes
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This night I hold an old accustomed feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
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For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.
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Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on his back.
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He was too good to be Where ill men were, and was the best of all Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, Fairness which strikes the eye- CYMBELINE.
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False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
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And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
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Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.
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Then imitate the action of the tiger; stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
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The time is out of joint.
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A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm
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Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
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I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
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You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.
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Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes Unwhipped of justice.
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I see men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
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Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition: Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away.
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There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous men.
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But say, my lord, it were not regist'red, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retailed to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day.
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It is a good divine that follows his own instructions.
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My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
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I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.