On Love:
Absence from those we love is self from self – a deadly banishment.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
Love is too young to know what conscience is.
My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear;
That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming
The owner’s tongue doth publish everywhere.
(From: Sonnet 102: My Love Is Strengthened, Though More Weak In Seeming)
Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth grow.
(From: Sonnet 115: Those Lines That I Before Have Writ Do Lie)
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
(From: Sonnet 116: Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds)
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.
(From: Sonnet 147: My Love Is As A Fever, Longing Still)
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
(From: Sonnet 151: Love Is Too Young To Know What Conscience Is)
O, let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then, believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother’s child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air.
(From: Sonnet 21: So Is It Not With Me As With That Muse)
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
(From: Sonnet 65: Since Brass, Nor Stone, Nor Earth, Nor Boundless Sea)
Love is a smoke rais’d with the fume of sighs;
Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;
Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears.
(From: The Tragedy Of Romeo And Juliet)
Pardon me, Caesar, for my dear dear love
To your proceeding bids me tell you this,
And reason to my love is liable.
(From: The Tragedy Of Julius Caesar)
Now what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is siz’d, my fear is so.
(From: The Tragedy Of Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark)
O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.
(From: The Tragedy Of Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark)
Not that I think you did not love your father;
But that I know love is begun by time,
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
(From: The Tragedy Of Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark)
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
(From: The Tragedy Of Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark)
I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold?
(From: The Taming Of The Shrew)
Love is not so great,
Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly
out; our cake’s dough on both sides.
(From: The Taming Of The Shrew)
Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and
enforces.
(From: The Life Of King Henry The Fifth)
She was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth;
But still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth.
(From: The History Of Troilus And Cressida)
When vice makes mercy, mercy’s so extended
That for the fault’s love is th’ offender friended.
(From: Measure For Measure)
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
(From: King John)
If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
(From: King John)
What good love may I perform for you?
(From: King John)
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt;
Why writes she so to me?
(From: As You Like It)
Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as
well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why
they are not so punish’d and cured is that the lunacy is so
ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
(From: As You Like It)
And therefore take the present time,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crowned with the prime,
In the spring time, &c.
(From: As You Like It)
Love is your master, for he masters you;
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
(From: The Two Gentlemen Of Verona)
And so suppose am I; for in his grave
Assure thyself my love is buried.
(From: The Two Gentlemen Of Verona)
‘Tis pity love should be so contrary;
And thinking on it makes me cry ‘Alas!
(From: The Two Gentlemen Of Verona)
And, that my love may appear plain and free,
All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.
(From: The Two Gentlemen Of Verona)
Alas, their love may be call’d appetite-
No motion of the liver, but the palate-
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much.
(From: Twelfth Night)
But do thy worst to steal thy self away,
For term of life thou art assurèd mine,
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
(From: Sonnet 92: But Do Thy Worst To Steal Thy Self Away)
In many’s looks, the false heart’s history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate’er thy thoughts, or thy heart’s workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
(From: Sonnet 93: So Shall I Live, Supposing Thou Art True)
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
(From: Sonnet 72: O, Lest The World Should Task You To Recite)
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ costs,
Of more delight than hawks and horses be;
And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast-
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take,
All this away and me most wretched make.
(From: Sonnet 91: Some Glory In Their Birth, Some In Their Skill)
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds.
Love is … a madness most discreet.
Love is a smoke rais’d by the fume of sighs.
ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. ROSALIND Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
They are but beggars that can count their worth, But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
What gone without a word Ay, so true love should do it cannot speak, for truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear When little fears grow great, great love grows there.
She marking them begins a wailing note And sings extemporally a woeful ditty How love makes young men thrall and old men dote How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answer so.
If you love her, you cannot see her . . . because love is blind.
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see What petty follies they themselves commit
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit, For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy
Love is merely madness…
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But lust’s effect is tempest after sun Love’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust’s winter comes ere summer half be done Love surfeit’s not, Lust like a glutton dies, Love is all truth, Lust full
On Kindness:
Unkindness may do much,
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love.
(From: The Tragedy Of Othello, Moor Of Venice)
On Life:
Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
This life is most jolly.
(From: Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind)
I will tell you-he beat me grievously
in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master
Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver’s beam; because
I know also life is a shuttle.
(From: The Merry Wives Of Windsor)
That life is better life, past fearing death,
Than that which lives to fear.
(From: Measure For Measure)
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
Take honour from me, and my life is done:
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live, and for that will I die.
(From: King Richard The Second)
Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As mans ingratitude Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho sing, heigh-ho unto the green holly Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Then heigh-ho the holly This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend rememberd not.
By medicine life may be prolonged, yet death Will seize the doctor too.
Mine honor is my life both grow in one Take honor from me and my life is done.
O gentlemen the time of life is short To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dials point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
Our life is short, but to expand that span to vast eternity is virtue’s work.
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our own virtues.
There’s nothing in this world can make me joy Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man And bitter shame hath spoil’d the sweet world’s taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
We are such stuff As dreams are made of, And our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
All is but toys renown, and grace, is dead The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of
I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale.
On Death:
The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, which hurts and is desired.
Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man
in his bed- wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying so,
death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly
lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that escapes
it were not sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He
let him outlive that day to see His greatness, and to teach
others how they should prepare.
(From: The Life Of King Henry The Fifth)
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish’d for.
(From: Much Ado About Nothing)
Death is a fearful thing.
(From: Measure For Measure)
It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then
have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
(From: The Tragedy Of Othello, Moor Of Venice)
Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.
(From: King Richard III)
Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call’d him all to naught:
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
(From: Venus And Adonis)
By medicine life may be prolonged, yet death Will seize the doctor too.
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
On Honesty:
That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no
discourse to your beauty.
(From: The Tragedy Of Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark)
Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.
On Fear:
Now what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is siz’d, my fear is so.
(From: The Tragedy Of Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark)
None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.
(From: The Tragedy Of Julius Caesar)
Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.
Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.
On Learning:
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
These vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear,
And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste.
(From: Sonnet 77: Thy Glass Will Show Thee How Thy Beauties Wear)
On Knowledge:
Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.
On God:
God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
Write down that they hope they serve God; and write God first,
for God defend but God should go before such villains!
(From: Much Ado About Nothing)
