Quotes from William Shakespeare

I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,To stir men's blood: I only speak right on.

A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder.

O God! I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

I could be well contentTo entertain the lag-end of my lifeWith quiet hours.

O, how full of briers is this working-day world!

Love is too young to know what conscience is.

Rightly to be greatIs not to stir without great argument,But greatly to find quarrel in a strawWhen honor's at the stake.

I do perceive here a divided duty.

O! what authority and show of truthCan cunning sin cover itself withal.

O sleep! O gentle sleep!Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids downAnd steep my senses in forgetfulness?

The infirmity of his age.

O! beware, my lord, of jealousy;It is the green-ey'd monster which doth mockThe meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in blissWho, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;But, O! what damned minutes tells he o'erWho dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet soundly loves!

We must take the current when it serves,Or lose our ventures.

Macbeth: Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,Raze out the written troubles of the brain,And with some sweet oblivious antidoteCleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuffWhich weighs upon the heart?Doctor: Therein the patientMust minister to himself.Macbeth: Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.

Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

A still-soliciting eye.

How oft when men are at the point of deathHave they been merry!

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,That sees into the bottom of my grief?

And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,That palter with us in a double sense;That keep the word of promise to our earAnd break it to our hope.

I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

A plague of all cowards, I say.

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

The smallest worm will turn being trodden on.