William Shakespeare Quotes
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That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.
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Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion
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That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged.
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That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
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Love is too young to know what conscience is.
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O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
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All the world's a stage.
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Love is begun by time and time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
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Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
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O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun.
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Such antics do not amount to a man.
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Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
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He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad.
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I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano!
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee.
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O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
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Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
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For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.
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Good wine needs no bush.
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Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
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Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven.