William Shakespeare Quotes
-
O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper, sprinkle cool patience.
-
Farewell, my sister, fare thee well. The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.
-
Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.
-
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
-
Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.
-
A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
-
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have; but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not" (5.3.25-28).
-
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
-
In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
-
Love is . . . a madness most discreet
-
Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
-
Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee.
-
Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
-
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags."
-
Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.
-
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, more than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
-
Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.
-
And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.
-
Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
-
She's gone. I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe her.
-
When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.
-
The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
-
a young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief
-
Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.