William Shakespeare Quotes
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Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.
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And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.
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I hope to see London once ere I die.
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In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.
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The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo
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So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him!
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We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
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Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.
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I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm.
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He was too good to be Where ill men were, and was the best of all Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, Fairness which strikes the eye- CYMBELINE.
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I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.
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For I am fresh of spirit, and resolved To meet all perils very constantly.
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Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.
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You are strangely troublesome.
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Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden.
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I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him. So again good night. I must be cruel only to be kind. Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
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She's good, being gone.
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Eternity was in our lips and eyes.
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I say, without characters, fame lives long.
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An honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
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Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.