William Shakespeare Quotes
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I dote on his very absence.
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Honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
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The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed; nor doth the general care Take hold on me; for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye.
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Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation
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I can give the loser leave to chide.
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A light heart lives long.
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Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.
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Withal I did infer your lineaments, Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind; Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse.
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Grace and remembrance be to you both.
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As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.
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Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
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Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.
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Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.
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So wise so young, they say, do never live long.
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Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own
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I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.
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Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
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A pal is one that is aware you while you are, understands where you have already been, accepts whatever you are becoming, and continue to, carefully means that you can develop.
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Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.
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And what’s he then that says I play the villain?
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O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!