Quotes About Contrast

Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear, Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!

His jest shall savour but a shallow wit, when thousands more weep than did laugh it.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch Which hurts and is desired.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .

O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.

Coal-black is better than another hue, In that it scorns to bear another hue; For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood.

There are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.

You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.

Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.

All strange and terrible events are welcome, but comforts we despise

Who will not change a raven for a dove?

Still better, and worse.

My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules.

Look here upon this picture, and on this...

I'll be your foil, Laertes: in mine ignorance your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, stick fiery off indeed.

How much better to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that; we this way.