William Shakespeare Quotes (3360 Quotes)

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.

Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become the form of my intent.

O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter'd in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.

When we are born, we cry that we have come to this stage of fools

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

He hath disgrac'd me and hind'red me half a million; laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew.

Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.

Oh, what fools these mortals be!

Fill till the wine o'erswell the cup

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano!

For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.

Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion

I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays As thou dost, Anthony; he heard no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.

For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.

I will do anything ... ere I'll be married to a sponge.

I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.

Though she be but little, she is fierce!

I was born free as Caesar; so were you

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

And what's he then that says I play the villain?

The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.

I music be the food of love, play on

But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.

You blocks, you stones, you worthless than senseless things.