William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 13

To give yourself away keep yourself still,And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.

Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!-Posthumus LeonatusAct V, Scene V

Beggar that I am I am even poor in thanks.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus, and we petty menWalk under his huge legs and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonorable graves.Men at some time are masters of their fates.The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our starsBut in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Master, go on, and I will follow theeTo the last gasp with truth and loyalty.

What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by.Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.

Some are born great some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.

Who knows himself a braggart, let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass.

O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?And shall I couple Hell?

I am disgrac'd impeach'd and baffled here - Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear.

And thus I clothe my naked villainyWith odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ;And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

Jack shall have Jill.Nought shall go ill.

What's past is prologue.

We are such stuff As dreams are made on and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

BEROWNE: What time o' day?ROSALINE: The hour that fools should ask.

That that is is.

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt thou the sun doth moveDoubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love

I can call spirits from the vasty deep."Why so can I, or so can any man. But will they come when you do call for them?

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring barque, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say 'Father, as it please you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say 'Father, as it please me.

Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.

...Who could refrain,tThat had a heart to love, and in that hearttCourage to make love known?

Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

Many strokes though with a little axe Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.

These times of woe afford no time to woo.

He that is thy friend indeed,He will help thee in thy need:If thou sorrow, he will weep;If thou wake, he cannot sleep:Thus of every grief in heartHe with thee doth bear a part.These are certain signs to knowFaithful friend from flattering foe.

Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of DenmarkIs by a forged process of my deathRankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,The serpent that did sting thy father's lifeNow wears his crown.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. - Romeo

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Our doubts are traitors, and make us loose the good that we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.

Those lips that Love's own hand did makeBreathed forth the sound that said, 'I hate'To me that languished for her sake,But, when she saw my woeful state,Straight in her heart did mercy come,Chiding that tongue that ever sweetWas used in giving gentle doom,And taught it thus anew to greet:'I hate,' she altered with an endThat followed it as gentle dayDoth follow night, who like a fiendFrom Heaven to Hell is flown away.'I hate' from hate away she threwAnd saved my life, saying 'not you'.

Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.

Afore me! It is so very late,That we may call it early by and by.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

The blessedness of being little!!!

I cannot live to hear the news from England.But I do prophesy th' election lightsOn Fortinbras; he has my dying voice.So tell him, with th' occurents, more and less,Which have solicited - the rest is silence.

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

When the devout religion of mine eyeMaintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires,And these, who, often drowned, could never die,Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sunNe'er saw her match since first the world begun.

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus; and we petty menWalk under his huge legs, and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonourable graves.

But Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? Canst thou love me?"Catherine: "I cannot tell."Henry: "Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them.

I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?

Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.

Let us revenge this withour pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know Ispeak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.

Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!

The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation that away Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.

The first thing we do let's kill all the lawyers.

Sometimes we punish our selves the most.

The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns.

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,And therefore I forbid my tears.

Each substance of grief hath twenty shadows, which shows like grief itself, but is not so; or sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, divides one thing entire to many objects: like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon, show nothing but confusion:

Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves.

Seems," madam? Nay, it is; I know not "seems."'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.