William Shakespeare Quotes
turn him into stars and form a constellation in his image. His face will make the heavens so beautiful that the world will fall in love with the night and forget about the garish sun.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scornThe power of man, for none of woman bornShall harm Macbeth.
Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.
Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit, And look on death itself!
What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts...
PORTERThis is a lot of knocking! Come to think of it, if a man were in charge of opening the gates of hell to let people in, he would have to turn the key a lot.
To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently abeast!
O, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely,
O, that's a brave man! He writes brave versrs, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely,
Sweet are the uses of adversityWhich, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
Frailty, thy name is woman!—A little month, or ere those shoes were oldWith which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears:—
CASSIO: Dost thou hear, my honest friend?CLOWN: No, I hear not your honest friend, I hear you.CASSIO: Prithee, keep up thy quillets.
Our nearness to the king in love is nearness to those who love not the king.
The art of our necessities is strangeThat can make vile things precious.
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, shall we not revenge?". - (Act III, scene I).
Come, sir, come, I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love.Look, here I have you, thus I let you go, And give you to the gods.
Love is not love which alters when it alterations finds. Sonnet 116
I have no spurTo prick the sides of my intent, but onlyVaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itselfAnd falls on the other.
I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.
Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.
Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt thou the sun doth moveDoubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love
Our doubts are traitors, and make us loose the good that we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.
Shall we their fond pageant see?Lord, what fools these mortals be!
His jest shall savour but a shallow wit, when thousands more weep than did laugh it.
To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!I dare damnation
Hot from hell. Caesar's spirit raging in revenge. Cry, havoc! And let slip the dogs of war.
Thou calledst me a dog before thou hadst a cause, But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
But virtue, as it never will be moved, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel linked, Will sate itself in a celestial bedAnd prey on garbage.
If a moneyed man had a “corny mind”, a flatterer would immediately start chasing him like a hungry hen!
A man without money is like a windmill left without the wind, don’t you ever forget this!
To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...
More are men's ends marked than their lives before.The setting sun, the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
I will have thee, as our rarer monsters are, painted upon a pole, and underwrit: "Here you may see the tyrant, Macbeth
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of manThat function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
I would forget it fain, But oh, it presses to my memory, Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds.
I think this man is a bit crazy, but aren’t we all a little crazy anyway?
How can you get giants out of a dwarf, my good chap? Can a thrush lay eagle’s egg? Can a dolphin give birth to a whale?
But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
Time shall unfold what pleated cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.