William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 10

This is the very ecstasy of love,Whose violent property fordoes itselfAnd leads the will to desperate undertakingsAs oft as any passion under heavenThat does afflict our natures.

The time is out of joint.

Travellers ne'er did lie,Though fools at home condemn 'em.-Antonio

What we are is not all that we may become.

Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.

The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures. Lady Macbeth

Love is holy.

A sad tale's best for winter: I have one of sprites and goblins.

I love thee I love but thee With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold And the stars grow old.

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.

To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub,For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

I can't talk, or I will throw up!

Be as thou wast wont to be.

... and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days...

such wanton, wild, and usual slips/ As are companions noted and most known/ To youth and liberty.

To take arms against a sea of troubles.

..What our contempt often hurls from us,We wish it our again; the present pleasure,By revolution lowering,does becomeThe opposite of itself..

I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.

To die, is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self: a deadly banishment! What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection.Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon; She is my essence, and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.

POLONIUS : My Lord, I will use them according to their desert.HAMLET : God's bodykins man, better. Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.

I to myself am dearer than a friend.

The ides of March are come.

Then, were not summer's distillation leftA liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet,Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

He kills her in her own humor.

He reads much;He is a great observer and he looksQuite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sortAs if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spiritThat could be moved to smile at any thing.Such men as he be never at heart's easeWhiles they behold a greater than themselves,And therefore are they very dangerous.

Friends Romans countrymen lend me your ears.

He that doth the ravens feed. Yea providently caters for the sparrow. Be comfort to my age!

BOYETA mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.MARIAWide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand is out.COSTARDIndeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.BOYETAn if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.COSTARDThen will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.MARIACome, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.COSTARDShe's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.BOYETI fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.Exeunt BOYET and MARIA

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.

The law hath not been dead though it hath slept.

Were kisses all the joys in bed,/One woman would another wed.

Fraily thy name is woman!

There's meaning in thy snores.

What's in a name? that which we call a roseBy any other name would smell as sweet.

For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

You speak an infinite deal of nothing.

But for my own part it was Greek to me.

These blessed candles of the night.

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,When other petty griefs have done their spite,But in the onset come: so shall I tasteAt first the very worst of fortune’s might;And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,Compar’d with loss of thee will not seem so.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look.

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring [making music] to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls,But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.

To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!I dare damnation

O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been.

O judgment! thou are fled to brutish beasts And men have lost their reason!

I have set my life upon a cast,And I will stand the hazard of the die.

Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.

He was a man take him for all in all I shall not look upon his like again.

The curse of true love never did run smooth.

The worst is not sSo long as we can say "This is the worst."

Forbear to judge for we are sinners all.

The tender spring upon thy tempting lipShows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:Make use of time, let not advantage slip;Beauty within itself should not be wasted:Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their primeRot and consume themselves in little time.

There is more things in heaven and earth...than are dreamt of by your philosophy.

There was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently.

Men must endureTheir going hence, even as their coming hither.Ripeness is all.

Making night hideous.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!

There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will

O, that this too too solid flesh would meltThaw and resolve itself into a dew!Or that the Everlasting had not fix'dHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,Seem to me all the uses of this world!Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,That grows to seed; things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. That it should come to this!But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:So excellent a king; that was, to this,Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my motherThat he might not beteem the winds of heavenVisit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,As if increase of appetite had grownBy what it fed on: and yet, within a month--Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--A little month, or ere those shoes were oldWith which she follow'd my poor father's body,Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,My father's brother, but no more like my fatherThan I to Hercules: within a month:Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tearsHad left the flushing in her galled eyes,She married. O, most wicked speed, to postWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!It is not nor it cannot come to good:But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.

Silence is the herald of joy