William Shakespeare Quotes (3360 Quotes)

If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.

There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with t.

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.

It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and
relish it with good observance.

All health, my sovereign lord!

I hate ingratitude more in a person than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or, any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood. Twelfth Night

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.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Why is my verse so barren of new pride?

By heaven I charge thee speak!

Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.

O, this life; Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a bribe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk.

Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;
it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and
signifies love.

Certain, men should be what they seem.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care.

He hath not fed of the dainties that are bred in a book he hath not eat paper, as it were he hath not drunk ink.

Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.

Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.

Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies
Find written in the margent of his eyes,
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him only lacks a cover.

I have been studying how I may compare. The prison where I live unto the world.

I do now remember the poor creature, small beer.

What's brave, what's noble,Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,And make death proud to take us.

As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious.

Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run
As it were doomsday.

That I did love the Moor to live with him,
My downright violence and storm of fortunes
May trumpet to the world.

O my offence is rank, it smells to heaven.

Ah, he is young; and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

Well could I curse away a winter's night,Though standing naked on a mountain top,Where biting cold would never let grass grow,And think it but a minute spent in sport.

... nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.

Well, I could reply:
If we should serve with horse and mares together
The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear
A soldier and his horse.

I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting.

He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country, as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court.

For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.

Some grief shows much of love;
But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.

You and you no cross shall part;
You and you are heart in heart;
You to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord;
You and you are sure together,
As the winter to foul weather.

Give her this jewel; say
My love can give no place, bide no denay.

Being daily swallowed by mens eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.

I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here.

Where is my other life?

The earth has music for those who listen.

Hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number- hoo!

Alack, or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country.

Of what quality was your love, then?

'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he,
'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.

What the declin'd is,
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others
As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer;
And not a man for being simply man
Hath any honour, but honour for those honours
That are without him, as place, riches, and favour,
Prizes of accident, as oft as merit;
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Doth one pluck down another, and together
Die in the fall.