William Shakespeare Quotes
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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
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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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Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
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If the masses can love without knowing why, they also hate without much foundation.
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A little water clears us of this deed.
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Your "if" is the only peacemaker; much virtue in "if.
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I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends
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Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay; My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
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Educated men are so impressive.
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Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offense?
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What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within's two hours.
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God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
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But virtue never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven.
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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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Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
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So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
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My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.
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The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.
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God send everyone their heart's desire!
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Value dwells not in particular will; It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer.
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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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Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.