William Shakespeare Quotes
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion!
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O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart."-Helena
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Full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
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More can I bear than you dare execute.
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A man can die but once.
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O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
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There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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Like the lily That once was mistress of the field and flourished, I'll hang my head and perish.
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Tempt not a desperate man.
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How long a time lies in one little word?
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Small things make base men proud.
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Men that make Envy and crooked malice nourishment, Dare bite the best.
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O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!
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Can it be chat modesty may more betray Our sense than woman's lightness?
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My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speaks mournfully, Trail your steel spikes. Though in this city he Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.
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Let every man be master of his time.
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I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.
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Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
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When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man.
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Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require.
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They love least that let men know their loves.