William Shakespeare Quotes

The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.

a wild dedication of yourselves To undiscovered waters, undreamed shores.

By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them

Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity.

I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.

Thou hast not half that power to do me harm As I have to be hurt.

I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.

First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.

Behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge

Let's meet as little as we can

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind.

The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.

When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swollen face?

What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows?

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods?

For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.

How poor are they that have have not patients.

Thus may poor fools Belive false teachers.

Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.

O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.

It's easy for someone to joke about scars if they've never been cut.

No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.

So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, divisions none.

We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.

You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.

My love's more richer than my tongue.

He wears the rose Of youth upon him.

All the world is a stage and we are merely players.

The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of tomorrow.

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.

These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!

Of all the fair resort of gentlemen That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love?

Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms Misguide thy opposers' swords!

She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as Phoenix.

Who is Silvia What is she, That all our swains commend her Holy, fair, and wise is she.

Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?

Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.

. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.

If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it.

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.

To give yourself away keep yourself still, And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.

Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die as fast as they see others grow.

Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.

Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fairTo be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.