William Shakespeare Quotes
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Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.
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Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear.
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I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.
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There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
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Things in motion sooner catch the eye than what not stirs.
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Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.
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Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
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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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They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor
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May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.
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What is the city but the people?
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I bear a charmed life.
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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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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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We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.
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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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The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to.
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Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more.
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Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws; let them, Not you, correct him.
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No .... holy father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom.
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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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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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Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away
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We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.