Quotes from William Shakespeare

There is no darkness but ignorance.

Which can say more than this rich praise, that you alone are you?

For the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge

And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

yet you see how this world goes. GLOS.: I see it feelingly.

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. Mercutio: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.

Don't judge a man's conscience by looking at his face cause he may have a bad heart.

Therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort is that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst, and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better.

A young man married is a man that's marred.

I have no words. My voice is in my sword.

Well may I get aboard. [He sees a bear.] This is the chase: I am gone for ever! [Exist pursued by a bear.]

I'll never be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand as if a man were author to himself and knew no other kin.

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

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 bed And prey on garbage.

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.

Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.

The blessedness of being little!!!

Hark, how hard he fetches breath.

Have not we affections and desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?

Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.

There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.

But, orderly to end where I begun: Our wills and fates do so contrary run That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. So think thou wilt no second husband wed, But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought...

A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.