William Shakespeare Quotes
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We are oft to blame in this, - 'tis too much proved, - that with devotion's visage, and pios action we do sugar o'er the devil himself.
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Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
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Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, Nettled and stung with pismires[nettles], when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
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Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howling attends it! How hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend professed, To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
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Love does not see with the eyes, but with the soul.
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She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty How love makes young men thrall and old men dote How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.
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I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
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The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
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These violent delights have violent ends.
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I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
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This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions; these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.
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Gold were as good as twenty orators.
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And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.
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The wheel is come full circle.
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So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.
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I say, without characters, fame lives long.
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How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us.
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Would I were in an alehouse in London.
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To you your father should be as a god; One that composed your beauties, yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax, By him imprinted, and within his power To leave the figure or disfigure it.
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The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.
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He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
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If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.
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The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.