William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 4

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts...

I am dying Egypt dying.

When I was at home I was in a better place but travellers must be content.

Thou, my slave,As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant,And for thou wast a spirit too delicateTo act her earthy and abhorred commands,Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,By help of her more potent ministersAnd in her most unmitigable rage,Into a cloven pine, within which riftImprisoned thou didst painfully remainA dozen years; within which space she diedAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groansAs fast as mill wheels strike.

Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.

I can call spirits from the vasty deep."Why so can I, or so can any man. But will they come when you do call for them?

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:And you all know, securityIs mortals' chiefest enemy.

To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

When he shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with nightAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.

Refrain to-night;And that shall lend a kind of easinessTo the next abstinence, the next more easy;For use almost can change the stamp of nature,And either master the devil or throw him outWith wondrous potency.

They say an old man is twice a child

Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear.

To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!I dare damnation

O judgment! thou are fled to brutish beasts And men have lost their reason!

In my mind's eye

Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars But in ourselves that we are underlings.

The ripest fruit first falls.

Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.

Out out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.

O, that he were here to write me down an ass! But, masters, remember, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.

Much rain wears the marble.

The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in. You rub the soreWhen you should bring the plaster.

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel:Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!This was the most unkindest cut of all

More in sorrow than in anger.

And worse I may be yet: the worst is notSo long as we can say 'This is the worst.

So may the outward shows be least themselves:The world is still deceived with ornament.In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,Obscures the show of evil? In religion,What damned error, but some sober browWill bless it and approve it with a text,Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?There is no vice so simple but assumesSome mark of virtue on his outward parts.

That he is mad 'tis true 'tis true 'tis pity And pity 'tis 'tis true.

Of all mad matches never was the likeBeing mad herself, she’s madly mated.

Love is not love which alters when it alterations finds. Sonnet 116

How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, Reason none, If what parts, can so remain.

I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none

Thy wish was father to that thought.

One man in his time plays many parts.

Courage mounteth with occasion.

RUMOUR:"Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,The which in every language I pronounce,Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

Sweet are the uses of adversityWhich, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

For all that beauty that doth cover theeIs but the seemly raiment of my heart,Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me.How can I then be elder than thou art?

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eyeThan twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,And I am proof against their enmity.

Conscience is but a word that cowards use Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.

Timon: I’ll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.

Our nearness to the king in love is nearness to those who love not the king.

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.

I'll read enoughWhen I do see the very book indeedWhere all my sins are writ, and that's myself.Give me that glass and therein will I read.No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struckSo many blows upon this face of mineAnd made no deeper wounds?O flattering glass,Like to my followers in prosperityThou dost beguile me!

She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!O any thing, of nothing first create!O heavy lightness, serious vanity,Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, heal'd by the same means, warm'd and cool'd by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.

- Where is Polonius?- In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other place yourself.

What a piece of work is man!

What's done can't be undone.

They do not love, that do not show their love.

Small herbs have grace, great weeds to grow apace.

Every subject's duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own. 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 no sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He let him outlive the day to see His greatness and to teach others how they should prepare.

Murder most foul as in the best it is But this most foul strange and unnatural.

What's done, is done

We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow

Of all knowledge, the wise and good seek mostly to know themselves.

HIPPOLYTABut all the story of the night told over,And all their minds transfigured so together,More witnesseth than fancy’s imagesAnd grows to something of great constancy,But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

thus with a kiss I die

Sermons in stones and good in every thing.