William Shakespeare Quotes
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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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Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow.
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Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions.
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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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One sin another doth provoke.
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Reason thus with life: If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep.
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For trust not him that hath once broken faith
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Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love. That inward beauty and invisible; Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move each part in me that were but sensible: Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, yet should I be in love by touching thee. 'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, and that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, and nothing but the very smell were left me, yet would my love to thee be still as much; for from the stillitory of thy face excelling comes breath perfum'd that breedeth love by smelling.
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You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!
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To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.
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Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.
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The wheel is come full circle.
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Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
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A king of infinite space
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What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
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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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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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But virtue never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven.
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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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Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.
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There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.
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A very little little let us do And all is done.
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Let husbands know Their wives have sense like them. They see, and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have.