William Shakespeare Quotes
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth, And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out.
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And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once That makes ingrateful man!
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A politician... one that would circumvent God.
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
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Though those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
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A young man married is a man that's marred.
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O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!
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Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. For whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.
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Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph.
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He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
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You had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.
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You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
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Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
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Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
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So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by.
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I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list!
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To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
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Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters.
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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.
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Ay, but to die and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstrution and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.
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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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Taste your legs, sire: put them into motion.