William Shakespeare Quotes
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The hideous god of war.
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Alas, I am a woman friendless, hopeless!
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Honor, riches, marriage-blessing Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you!
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Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
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To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.
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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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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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When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
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Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
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Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.
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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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But here's the joy: my friend and I are one, Sweet flattery!
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What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” “My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white. A little water clears us of this deed: How easy it is then! Your constancy hath left you unattended.
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We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.
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Drink down all unkindness.
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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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Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie.
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Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
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Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.
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Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
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When faced with a sea of troubles, take action, and in so doing end it.
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Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
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Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
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Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding they brav'ry in their rotten smoke?