Quotes About Endurance

what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes

Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first.

If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, And be it moon, or sun, or what you please. And if you please to call it a rush candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

Pour on, I will endure.

I have more care to stay than will to go.

Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, that shakes not, though they blow perpetually.

Fight till the last gasp.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

Still so cruel? Still so constant, lord.

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.

The pleasing punishment that women bare....

Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:

For there was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently.

That which in mean men we entitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

Patience perforce with willful choler meeting/Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting./I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall,/Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall.

So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend. Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!