Quotes About Shakespeare

There is magic in the web Shakespeare (Othello, Act 3, Scene 4)

do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, yet you cannot play upon me.

Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat in this distracted globe. Remember thee?

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

There is not such a word Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.

Never durst a poet touch a pen to write Until his ink was tempered with love's sighs.

I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you. Benedick: What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?

Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.

A gross hag And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. ANTIGONUS ~ Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject.

It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.

The let-alone lies not in your good will.

For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.

What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? ORLANDO: I would kiss before I spoke.

When in that moment,—so it came to pass,— Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass.

Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO: If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives and conned them out of rings?

Too well what love women to men may owe. In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man – As it might be perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship.

Monster, I do smell all horse piss, at which my nose is in great indignation. (IV, 1, lines 223-224)

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

I will be brief: your noble son is mad: Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?

Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect.

I freely told you, all the wealth I had Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman.

What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state.

Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?