William Shakespeare Quotes
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But say, my lord, it were not regist'red, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retailed to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day.
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When workmen strive to do better than well, they do confound their skill in covetousness.
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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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Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.
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There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.
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The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
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Your "if" is the only peacemaker; much virtue in "if.
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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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Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen can passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
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If music be the food of love, play on.
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It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.
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Make use of time, let not advantage slip.
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He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
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If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
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There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous men.
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Every cloud engenders not a storm.
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He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
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Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
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I do begin to have bloody thoughts.
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O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love... 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us.
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This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
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It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears! -Romeo
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Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st. Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strewed, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delight measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.