William Shakespeare Quotes
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Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.
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Men of few words are the best men." (3.2.41)
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Tis a cruelty to load a fallen man.
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He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
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This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
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A poor thing, perhaps, but my own.
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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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There is a world elsewhere.
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Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.
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They say miracles are past.
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Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus, expiring, do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small show'rs last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding doth choke the feeder; Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
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Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.
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That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. (Enobarbus)
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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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Best men oft are moulded out of faults.
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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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A dream itself is but a shadow.
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
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If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
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I and my bosom must debate awhile, and then I would no other company.
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Honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
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I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; not the soldier's which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
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I can give the loser leave to chide.
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Highly fed and lowly taught.