Quotes from William Shakespeare

Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine.

Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall. - Angelo, Act 2 Scene 1

Diseases desperate grown, By desperate appliance are relieved, Or not at all.

As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound. There is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving.

A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.

Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.

And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel, But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade.

Fight till the last gasp.

This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.

I read that I profess, the Art of Love. Bianca: And may you prove, sir, master of your art! Lucentio: While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart!

Make not your thoughts your prisons.

But yet let me lament With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts That thou my brother, my competitor In top of all design, my mate in empire, Friend and companion in the front of war, The arm of mine own body, and the heart Where mine his thoughts did kindle—that our stars Unreconcilable should divide Our equalness to this.

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

Farewell, sweet playfellow.

Now, good sir, what are you? EDGAR A most poor man made tame to fortune's blows, Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows Am pregnant to good pity.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner?

I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe. What is decreed must be; and be this so.

yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way:

The worm is not to be trusted...

I dote on his very absence.

My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness