Quotes About Reflection

He was indeed the glassWherein the noble youth did dress themselves.

Modest doubt is call'dThe beacon of the wise, the tent that searchesTo the bottom of the worst.

Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.

O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low?Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,Shrunk to this little measure?

Had he not resembledMy father as he slept I had done 't.

And so, from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,And thereby hangs a tale.

O Hamlet! what a falling-off was there.

The mirror of all courtesy.

Season your admiration for a while.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly?

Your mind is tossing on the ocean.

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime.

Things without all remedyShould be without regard: what's done is done.

Some craven scrupleOf thinking too precisely on the event.

They are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

Wormwood, wormwood.

My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face.

Alas! 'tis true I have gone here and there,And made myself a motley to the view,Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,Made old offenses of affections new.

O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

True, I talk of dreams,Which are the children of an idle brain,Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.

I could be well contentTo entertain the lag-end of my lifeWith quiet hours.

How oft when men are at the point of deathHave they been merry!

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?