Quotes from William Shakespeare

He is not great who is not greatly good.

Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

Lawless are they that make their wills their law.

To climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first.

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

What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say

For grief is crowned with consolation.

For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

. . . 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.

I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court?

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor.

There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history, fully unfold.

Beauty lives with kindness.

Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!

But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool.

Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.

I see a man's life is a tedious one.

O gentlemen, the time of life is short! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour.

Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass'd.

Mine honor is my life, both grow in one. Take honor from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try; In that I live, and for that I will die.

I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.

Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.