William Shakespeare Quotes
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Men of few words are the best men." (3.2.41)
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I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
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How hard it is to hide the sparks of Nature!
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I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
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The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.
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O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
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That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged.
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Weed your better judgments of all opinion that grows rank in them.
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To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.
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These times of woe afford no time to woo.
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What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows?
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To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation: To this point I stand,-- That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd.
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We are ready to try our fortunes to the last man.
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Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
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Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
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Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
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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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Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.
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Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.
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This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
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For there was never yet philosoper That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance.
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Tis a cruelty to load a fallen man.
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Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
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Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.