William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 4

Let me embrace thee sour adversity for wise men say it is the wisest course.

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care The death of each day's life sore labour's bath Balm of hurt minds great nature's second course Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!It seems she hangs upon the cheek of nightLike a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear,Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.So shows a snowy dove trooping with crowsAs yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand.Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

La vida es mi tortura y la muerte será mi descanso.

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?

We number nothing that we spend for you;Our duty is so rich, so infinite,That we may do it still without accompt.Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,That we, like savages, may worship it.

I have no other but a woman's reason. I think him so because I think him so.

Our nearness to the king in love is nearness to those who love not the king.

Don Pedro - (...)'In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.'Benedick - The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns and set them in my forehead, and let me be vildly painted; and in such great letters as they writes, 'Here is good horse for hire', let them signify under my sign, 'Here you may see Benedick the married man.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vicesMake instruments to plague us.

To be or not to be that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them?

God befriend us as our cause is just!

For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd And fell below his stem: his sword, death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli like a planet: now all's his: When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, And to the battle came he; where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting.

For your sake, jewel,I am glad at soul I have no other child;For thy escape would teach me tyranny,To hang clogs on them.

This above all: to thine own self be true.

When he shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with nightAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.

I take thee at thy word:Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.

So. Lie there, my art.

Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal the mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne.

The robb'd that smiles, steals something from the thief.

. . . I will not be sworn, but love may trans-form me to an oyster, but, I’ll take my oath on it, till hehave made an oyster of me, he shall never make me sucha fool.

Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, oh you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death!

Do not forever with thy vailed lidsSeek for thy noble father in the dust.Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,Passing though nature to eternity.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, And too often is his gold complexion dimm'd: And every fair from fair sometimes declines, By chance or natures changing course untrimm'd; By thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

I understand a fury in your wordsBut not your words.

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

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thyeyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.

Experience is by industry achiev'd,And perfected by the swift course of time.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy But not express'd in fancy rich not gaudy For the apparel oft proclaims the man.

O call back yesterday bid time return.

I shall not look upon his like again.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.

I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.

Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

ROMEO :'Tis torture and not mercy. Heaven is here,Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dogAnd little mouse, every unworthy thing,Live here in heaven and may look on her,But Romeo may not. More validity,More honorable state, more courtship livesIn carrion flies than Romeo. They may seizeOn the white wonder of dear Juliet’s handAnd steal immortal blessing from her lips,Who even in pure and vestal modesty,Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.But Romeo may not. He is banishèd.Flies may do this, but I from this must fly.They are free men, but I am banishèd.And sayst thou yet that exile is not death?Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp-ground knife,No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,But “banishèd” to kill me?—“Banishèd”!O Friar, the damnèd use that word in hell.Howling attends it. How hast thou the heart,Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,A sin-absolver, and my friend professed,To mangle me with that word “banishèd”?

I wasted time and now doth time waste me.

ANGELOFrom thee, even from thy virtue!What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?Ha!Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is IThat, lying by the violet in the sun,Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it beThat modesty may more betray our senseThan woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,Shall we desire to raze the sanctuaryAnd pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?Dost thou desire her foully for those thingsThat make her good? O, let her brother live!Thieves for their robbery have authorityWhen judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,That I desire to hear her speak again,And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerousIs that temptation that doth goad us onTo sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,With all her double vigour, art and nature,Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maidSubdues me quite. Even till now,When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how.-- Measure for Measure, II, ii

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

Brutus: Kneel not, gentle Portia.Portia: I should need not, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

Poor and content is rich and rich enough.

All causes shall give way: I am in bloodStepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go o’er.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

A fool's bolt is soon shot.

She will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her.

And now about the cauldron singLike elves and fairies in a ring,Enchanting all that you put in.

Then I defy you, stars!

O, that's a brave man! He writes brave versrs, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely,

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver.

Ram. My lord constable, the armor that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or suns upon it?Con. Stars, my lord.Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.Con. And yet my sky shall not want.Dau. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honor some were away.Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.Henry V, 3.7.69-78

The course of true love never did run smooth said by lysander

Zu früh, befürcht ich; denn mein Herz erbangtUnd ahnet ein Verhängnis, welches, nochVerborgen in den Sternen, heute NachtBei dieser Lustbarkeit den furchtbarn ZeitlaufBeginnen und das Ziel des läst'gen Lebens,Das meine Brust verschließt, mir kürzen wirdDurch irgendeinen Frevel frühen Todes.Doch er, der mir zur Fahrt das Steuer lenkt,Richt' auch mein Segel!I fear, too early. For my mind misgivesSome consequence, yet hanging in the stars,Shall bitterly begin his fearful dateWith this night's revels, and expire the termOf a despisèd life, closed in my breast,By some vile forfeit of untimely death.But He that hath the steerage of my courseDirect my sail!Romeo: Act I, Scene 4

Sound drums and trumpets! Farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.

Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor?Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest.Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart.Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.