William Shakespeare Quotes
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Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor
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It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.
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Music can minister to minds diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with its sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse the full bosom of all perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.
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We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun.
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My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.
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The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody: Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.
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The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And Nature must obey necessity.
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This above all; to thine own self be true.
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I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends
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Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
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Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end.
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Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
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The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
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Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.
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Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
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Educated men are so impressive.
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Make use of time, let not advantage slip.
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That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
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That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
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Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.
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Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.
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I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.