Quotes About Heart

Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.

Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,And merrily hent the stile-a:A merry heart goes all the day,Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit.

O! he sits high in all the people's hearts:And that which would appear offense in us,His countenance, like richest alchemy,Will change to virtue and to worthiness.

Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;Come like shadows, so depart.

For this relief much thanks; 'tis bitter cold,And I am sick at heart.

Jaques: What stature is she of?Orlando: Just as high as my heart.

They are not a pipe for fortune's fingerTo sound what stop she please. Give me that manThat is not passion's slave, and I will wear himIn my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,As I do thee. Something too much of this.

Prosperity's the very bond of love,Whose fresh complexion and whose heart togetherAffliction alters.

I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart.

You would pluck out the heart of my mystery.

O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts;Possess them not with fear; take from them nowThe sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbersPluck their hearts from them.

O England! model to thy inward greatness,Like little body with a mighty heart,What mightst thou do, that honor would thee do,Were all thy children kind and natural!

My heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O! the world hath not a sweeter creature; she might lie by an emperor's side and command him tasks.

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.

Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scap'd this sorrow,Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.

A habitation giddy and unsureHath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.

Tell me where is fancy bred,Or in the heart or in the head?How begot, how nourished?Reply, reply.

Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.

Your heart's desires be with you!

Alas, how love can trifle with itself!

I have full cause of weeping, but this heartShall break into a hundred thousand flawsOr ere I'll weep. O fool! I shall go mad.

He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.

I'll warrant him heart-whole.