William Shakespeare Quotes
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Beware Of entrance to a quarrel.
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Now the time is come, That France must veil her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England's lap.
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You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense.
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Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.
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This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy.
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run.
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Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.
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O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?
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Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.
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By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
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Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
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For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.
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True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
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There is a law in each well-ordered nation To curb those raging appetites that are Most disobedient and refractory.
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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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This liberty is all that I request.
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Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.
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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engend'red in the eyes, With gazing fed, and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies.
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Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
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Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
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Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.
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Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, His day's hot task hath ended in the west: The owl, night's herald, shrieks-'tis very late; The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest; And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light, Do summon us to part, and bid good night.