My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
Love's not love when it is mingled with regards that stand aloof from the entire point.
If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star!
Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, that shakes not, though they blow perpetually.
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
More fools know Jack Fool than Jack Fool knows.
In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
The robb'd that smiles, steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
I am agreed, and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid the house of her
Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: We cannot fight for love, as men ay do; We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well.
Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.
Nor are those empty-hearthed whose low sound reverbs no hollowness.
Is it not strange that sheep's guts could hail souls out of men's bodies?
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
The let-alone lies not in your good will.
Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.
Thou weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.
Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.- Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!
A piece of work that will make sick men whole.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you.
Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up tine, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.
She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
Tis within ourselves that we are thus or thus
Sit by my side, and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.
As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.
All that glitters is not gold.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks.
O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
But are not some whole that we must make sick?
Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
By my soul I swear, there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me.
We will have rings and things and fine array
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!
But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Were all the letters sun, I could not see one.
Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories