William Shakespeare Quotes
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Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.
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Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
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Ingratitude is monstrous.
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Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks and true obedience; Too little payment for so great a debt.
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O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
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Past and to come, seems best; things present, worse.
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As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance
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I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple; Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, Go antickly, and show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst; And this is all.
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When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.
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Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
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Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.
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Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
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A man can die but once.
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We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
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Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
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He must needs go that the devil drives.
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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
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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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What's done is done. The joy is in the doing.
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Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
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Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep; If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.
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No .... holy father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom.
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For I am fresh of spirit, and resolved To meet all perils very constantly.