William Shakespeare Quotes
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Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well
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Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
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To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
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Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor
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Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own house.
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Would I were in an alehouse in London.
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I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
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When rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will
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They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.
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But love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offense, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.
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Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
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So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.
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We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.
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To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
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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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Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
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In jest, there is truth.
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Aand in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief?
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Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
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Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness! This is the state of man: today he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, tomorrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And - when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening - nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
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Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
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There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
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Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.