William Shakespeare Quotes
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How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the dead!
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As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
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Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
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He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.
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Beware the ides of March.
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Speak on, but be not over-tedious.
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Speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.
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He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.
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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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Time does not have the same appeal for every one
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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
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Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.
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Wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.
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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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When law can do no right, Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong.
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Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.
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I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
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I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
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When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.
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O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?
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Things are often spoke and seldom meant.
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in black ink my love may still shine bright.
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O, reason not the need!