Quotes from William Shakespeare

Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,To cry, "Hold, hold!"

The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wondersAt our quaint spirits.

Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,The gods themselves throw incense.

Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die.

I do not set my life at a pin's fee.

True, I talk of dreams,Which are the children of an idle brain,Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.

One draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.

Down on your knees,And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love.

He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.

I were better to be eaten to death with rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.

O! hereWill I set up my everlasting rest,And shake the yoke of inauspicious starsFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!Arms, take your last embrace!

To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stolen forth of Holy Writ And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat

Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

There's husbandry in heaven;Their candles are all out.

See, what a grace was seated on this brow;Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself,An eye like Mars, to threaten and command,A station like the herald MercuryNew-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill,A combination and a form indeed,Where every god did seem to set his seal,To give the world assurance of a man.

I would applaud thee to the very echo,That should applaud again.

Come, my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that live must die,Passing through nature to eternity.

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zealI serv'd my king, he would not in mine ageHave left me naked to mine enemies.

The seeming truth which cunning times put onTo entrap the wisest.

The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn.