Quotes from William Shakespeare

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?

Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound reverbs no hollowness.

Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Enough no more; Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

Tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Let us to it pellmell. If not to Heaven, then hand in hand to Hell.

My lord, will you be true? Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault: Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion, I with great truth catch mere simplicity; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit Is plain and true; there's all the reach of it.

Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.

Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience.

Who makes the fairest show means the most deceit.

I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays As thou dost, Anthony; he heard no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.

For thy sweet love remembr'd such wealth brings That then, I scorn to change my state with kings.

My desolation does begin to make a better life.

In cases of Defense 'tis best to weigh The Enemy more mighty than he seems.

To be thus is nothing, but to be safely thus...

Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that Thou hast done to me. Therefore turn and draw.

I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.

She speaks much of her father; says she hears There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart; Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, That carry but half sense. (Ophelia)

From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope of the immoderate use Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, - Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, - A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.

That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel, Being oil to the fire, snow to the colder moods, Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.

Here's flowers for you; hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold.

The villany you teach me I shall execute; and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.