William Shakespeare Quotes
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Honor, riches, marriage-blessing Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you!
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Would I were in an alehouse in London.
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And do as adversaries do in law, strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
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Full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
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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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Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed.
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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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Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troops, and the big wars That make ambition virtue.
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Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct.
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He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
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The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.
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If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
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Adversity makes strange bedfellows.
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Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
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one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.
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The world must be peopled!
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Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
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Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor.
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O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
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Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper, as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence, But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor - Both thanks and use.
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Aand in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief?
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For there was never yet philosoper That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance.
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our own virtues.
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Despair and die. The ghosts