Quotes About Shakespeare

O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !

What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

I have drunk and seen the spider.

Frailty, thy name is woman!

But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.

So. Lie there, my art.

She dreams of him that has forgot her love; You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!

Where lies your text? Viola: In Orsino's bosom. Olivia: In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom? Viola: To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though, to run away.

William Shakespeare

And yet by heaven I think my love as rare / as any that she belie with false compare

For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be.

O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies?

Proper deformity shows not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.

Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.

What is in that word honor? What is that honor? Air. A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. 'Tis insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore, I'll none of it. Honor is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.

Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

William Shakespeare

Where is Polonius? - In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other place yourself.

I would forget it fain, But oh, it presses to my memory, Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds.

What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.