William Shakespeare Quotes
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I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
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You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
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He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends.
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Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity.
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Thy friendship makes us fresh.
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From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
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Tears water our growth.
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change.
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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about There's scarce a bush.
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Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?
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Opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects.
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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You speak an infinite deal of nothing.
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Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them.
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Retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave.
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Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.
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So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone.
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That we would do We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents, And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
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Haste is needful in a desperate case.
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I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world.
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Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our teeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurour and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.