Quotes from William Shakespeare

Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition

O' what may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!

O, learn to love, the lesson is but plain, And once made perfect, never lost again.

Fare thee well/ A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.

do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, yet you cannot play upon me.

Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer

But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?

Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat in this distracted globe. Remember thee?

Thou canst not speak of thou dost not feel.

It is no mean happiness...to be seated in the mean

Are you up to your destiny?

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.

But no perfection is so absolute That some inpurity doth not pollute.

Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child!

A traveler. By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's. Then to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Ho! now you strike like the blind man; t'was the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.

No, my heart is turn'd to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't

How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON: As the moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of.

Non v'è arte buona a leggere nel volto i disegni della mente.

in that small [time] most greatly lived this star of England: Fortune made his sword, By which the world's best garden he achiev'd And left it to his son imperial lord. Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King of France and England did this King succeed; Whose state so many of had the managing, That they lost France and made his England bleed.