William Shakespeare Quotes
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Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented: sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased With being nothing.
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Kent. Where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outscorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all.
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Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit; All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
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Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.
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God send everyone their heart's desire!
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I myself am best When least in company.
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Things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not stirs.
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All is well ended if this suit be won. That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day.
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As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, at turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to centre.
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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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That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away.
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Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.
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A fusty nut with no kernel.
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God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
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Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen Neither in inward worth nor outward fair Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
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O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
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Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
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Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
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The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo
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Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
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Tempt not a desperate man.
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Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
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A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.
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When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.