William Shakespeare Quotes
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Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, To signify thou camest to bite the world.
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Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
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There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
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We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
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They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor
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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?
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What's done is done. The joy is in the doing.
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Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass'd.
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This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
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As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
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Cursed be he that moves my bones.
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Be merry; you have cause, so have we all, of joy; for our escape is much beyond our loss . . . . then wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
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Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
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And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
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Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.
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Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?
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I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm.
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For trust not him that hath once broken faith
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.
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Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
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Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own house.