William Shakespeare Quotes

The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation that away Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.

Ay every inch a king.

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.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

I to myself am dearer than a friend.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.

O shame! Where is they blush?

Ships are but boards sailors but men.

I am a man More sinn'd against than sinning.

I am disgrac'd impeach'd and baffled here - Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear.

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care The death of each day's life sore labour's bath Balm of hurt minds great nature's second course Chief nourisher in life's feast.

To sleep! perchance to dream ay there's the rub For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil Must give us pause.

O sleep O gentle sleep Nature's soft nurse.

What's gone and what's past help should be past grief.

When sorrows come they come not as single spies But in battalions!

More in sorrow than in anger.

The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.

If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.

And thereby hangs a tale.

Things done well and with care exempt themselves from fear.

To climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver.

If you have tears prepare to shed them now.

Beggar that I am I am even poor in thanks.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child.

If you can look into the seeds of time and say which grain will grow and which will not speak then to me.

Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear.

Past and to come seems best things present worst.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York.

A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Many strokes though with a little axe hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

O call back yesterday bid time return.

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

Et tu Brute! (You too Brutus!)

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

I love thee I love but thee With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold And the stars grow old.

'Tis true 'tis pity And pity 'tis 'tis true.

My man's as true as steel.

'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.

There's a small choice in rotten apples.

Her voice was ever soft Gentle and low an excellent thing in woman.

We few we happy few we band of brothers For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.

Can snore upon the flint when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard.

For some must watch while some must sleep thus runs the world away.

I must be cruel Only to be kind.

Blow wind and crack your cheeks. Rage! Blow!

Thy wish was father to that thought.