William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 8

Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seatin this distracted globe. Remember thee?

Goodnight! Goodnight! Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say goodnight 'til it be morrow.

Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them - but not for love.

No, take more! What may be sworn by, both divine and human, Seal what I end withal! This double worship, Where [one] part does disdain with cause, the other Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom, Cannot conclude but by the yea and no Of general ignorance— it must omit Real necessities, and give way the while To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr’d, it follows Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore beseech you— You that will be less fearful than discreet; That love the fundamental part of state More than you doubt the change on’t; that prefer A noble life before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That’s sure of death without it— at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonor Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state Of that integrity which should become’t; Not having the power to do the good it would, For th’ ill which doth control’t.

The death of each days life

I would forget it fain,But oh, it presses to my memory,Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds.

Nice customs curtsy to great kings.

And will 'a not come again? And will 'a not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death bed: He will never come again.

The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to.

Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just And he but naked though lock'd up in steel Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

Turn hell-hound, turn.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child.

Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.

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

If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'this poet lies! Such heaven never touched earthly faces

The rest, is silence.

Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.

Then must you speakOf one that loved not wisely but too well,Of one not easily jealous but, being wrought,Perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand,Like the base Indian, threw a pearl awayRicher than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,Albeit unused to the melting mood,Drop tears as fast as the Arabian treesTheir medicinable gum. Set you down this,And say besides that in Aleppo once,Where a malignant and a turbaned TurkBeat a Venetian and traduced the state,I took by th' throat the circumcised dogAnd smote him thus.

To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune but to write and read comes by nature.

Thou art a votary to fond desire

Honour pricks me on. Yea but how if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word.

You gotta be cruel to be kind.

O God that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should with joy pleas-ance revel and applause transform ourselves into beasts!

A lover goes toward his beloved as enthusiastically as a schoolboy leaving his books, but when he leaves his girlfriend, he feels as miserable as the schoolboy on his way to school. (Act 2, scene 2)

Thought is free.

Reply not to me with a fool-born jest.

Good-night good-night! parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good-night till it be morrow.

Sweet are the uses of adversity Which like the toad ugly and venomous Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

This world's a city full of straying streets, and death's the market-place where each one meets.

Come what may time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

But screw your courage to the sticking place and we'll not fail.

A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

Ships are but boards sailors but men.

Ay sir to be honest as this world goes is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough;But riches fineless is as poor as winterTo him that ever fears he shall be poor;–Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defendFrom jealousy!

Nought’s had, all’s spent, where our desire is got without content.

Mad I call it, for to define true madness, what is't to be nothing else but mad?

The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars But in ourselves that we are underlings.

Let us not burthen our remembrance withA heaviness that's gone.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,Is the immediate jewel of their souls:Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands;But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.

There's a time for all things.

There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it.What our contempts doth often hurl from us,We wish it ours again. The present pleasure,By revolution lowering, does becomeThe opposite of itself. She's good, being gone.The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on.

That such a slave as this should wear a sword,Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwainWhich are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passionThat in the natures of their lords rebel,Being oil to the fire, snow to the colder moods,Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaksWith every gale and vary of their mastersKnowing naught, like dogs, but following.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,Men were deceivers ever,-One foot in sea and one on shore,To one thing constant never.

What's done cannot be undone.

O mother, mother!What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,The gods look down, and this unnatural sceneThey laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!You have won a happy victory to Rome;But, for your son,--believe it, O, believe it,Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,If not most mortal to him.

I'll take thy word for faith not ask thine oath Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both.

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,Who in despite of view is pleased to dote

Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are.

There's a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads onto fortune, omitted, all their voyages end in shallows and miseries. Upon such tide are we now...

And Sir, it is no little thing to make mine eyes to sweat compassion.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

Macbeth does murder sleep - the innocent sleep,Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, chief nourisher in life's feast.

For there was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently.

...and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us; do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

He hath eaten me out of house and home.