William Shakespeare Quotes
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Such antics do not amount to a man.
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Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
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I pray thee cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless as water in a sieve.
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No, by my soul, I never in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
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O powerful love, that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast.
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DON PEDRO Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick. BEATRICE Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. DON PEDRO You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. BEATRICE So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools.
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All his successors gone before him have done 't; and all his ancestors that come after him may.
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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
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The play's the thing.
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I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
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O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer!
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O, call back yesterday, bid time return
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It is a heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in it.
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God grant us patience!
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For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.
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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
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Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
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He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.
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These times of woe afford no time to woo.
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The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
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You are a tedious fool.
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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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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.