Quotes About Perception

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark youHis absolute "shall"?

It is the very error of the moon;She comes more near the earth than she was wont,And makes men mad.

He reads much;He is a great observer, and he looksQuite through the deeds of men.

Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.

Yet the first bringer of unwelcome newsHath but a losing office, and his tongueSounds ever after as a sullen bell,Remember'd knolling a departing friend.

Fie, fie upon her!There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look outAt every joint and motive of her body.

Reputation, reputation, reputation! O! I have lost my reputation. I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.

There's no artTo find the mind's construction in the face:He was a gentleman on whom I builtAn absolute trust.

Women speak two languages — one of which is verbal.

It oft falls out,To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean.

A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.

Some men there are love not a gaping pig;Some, that are mad if they behold a cat.

He hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows.

"Convey," the wise it call. "Steal" ' foh! a fico for the phrase!

Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.

For you there's rosemary and rue; these keepSeeming and savor all the winter long.

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

Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor:For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,So honor peereth in the meanest habit.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot seeThe pretty follies that themselves commit.

I understand a fury in your words,But not the words.

Look like the innocent flower,But be the serpent under 't.

Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-color'd taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled,Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.

A man whose bloodIs very snow-broth; one who never feelsThe wanton stings and motions of the sense.