William Shakespeare Quotes
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A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.
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Determine on some course more than a wild exposure to each chance.
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Love for thy love , and hand for hand I give.
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Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
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And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother
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Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
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I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
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I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.
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You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.
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The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. Pity is the virtue of the law, and none but tyrants use it cruelly.
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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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What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
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There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind
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For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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Now my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own, Which is most faint: now, 'tis true, Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got And pardon 'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell; I must be here confined by you, But release me from my bands With the help of your good hands: Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please: now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant, And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer, Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
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Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs?
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In delay there lies no plenty.
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Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.
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The one I love is the son of the one I hate!
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And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
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Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.