William Shakespeare Quotes
-
He must needs go that the devil drives.
-
When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.
-
I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
-
His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.
-
The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
-
Affection is a coal that must be cooled; else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.
-
Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.
-
I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.
-
We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
-
This night I hold an old accustomed feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
-
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.
-
More can I bear than you dare execute.
-
Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
-
Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
-
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
-
As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue
-
I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
-
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
-
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
-
Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
-
Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.
-
Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
-
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
-
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.