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.
For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.
I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.
Tis within ourselves that we are thus or thus
My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star!
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, that shakes not, though they blow perpetually.
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.
You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.
I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
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
I was born free as Caesar; so were you
And what's he then that says I play the villain?
I music be the food of love, play on
O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
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.
By my soul I swear, there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me.
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.
Is it not strange that sheep's guts could hail souls out of men's bodies?
You blocks, you stones, you worthless than senseless things.
I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear
Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!
George Bernard Shaw - Richard Steele - Philippe Quinault - Lady Gregory - John Fletcher - Jean Racine - Henry Taylor - George S. Kaufman - George Colman - Anton Chekhov