William Shakespeare Quotes
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How hard it is to hide the sparks of Nature!
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Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
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In time we hate that which we often fear.
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Flout 'em, and scout 'em; and scout 'em, and flout 'em; / Thought is free.
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Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.
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Who alone suffers suffers most i' th' mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind; But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
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With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
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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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O, call back yesterday, bid time return
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Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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And what’s he then that says I play the villain?
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For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
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You know who you are, but know not who you could be.
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Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.
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A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes.
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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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Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!
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There is nothing serious in Mortality
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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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Such antics do not amount to a man.
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But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If you have ever looked on better days, If ever been where bells knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be. . . .
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Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?