Quotes by William Shakespeare

But then I sigh, with a piece of ScriptureTell them that God bids us to do evil for good; And thus I clothe my naked villanyWith odd old ends stolen out of Holy Writ;And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

We know what we are, but not what we may be.

Whats in a name? that which we call a roseBy any other name would smell as sweet.

He that commends me to mine own contentCommends me to the thing I cannot get.I to the world am like a drop of waterThat in the ocean seeks another drop,Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:So I, to find a mother and a brother,In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Be as thou wast wont to be.

Be as thou wast wont to be.See as thou wast wont to see.

Cucullus non facit monachum; that’s as much to say, as I wear not motley in my brain.

Journeys end in lovers meeting.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife. . . . O, I am fortune’s fool! . . . Then I defy you, stars.

O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been.

Beshrew me but I love her heartily, For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath proved herself: And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Whats in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Good wombs have borne bad sons.-- (Miranda, I:2)

The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.

I cannot live to hear the news from England.But I do prophesy th election lightsOn Fortinbras; he has my dying voice.So tell him, with th occurents, more and less,Which have solicited - the rest is silence.

Fit to govern? No, not fit to live.

The world is not thy friend, nor the worlds law. - Romeo

Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite,That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy:Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:It shall be waited on with jealousy,Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end,Neer settled equally, but high or low,That all loves pleasure shall not match his woe.It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;The bottom poison, and the top oerstrawdWith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:The strongest body shall it make most weak,Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.It shall be sparing and too full of riot,Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild,Make the young old, the old become a child.It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;It shall be merciful and too severe,And most deceiving when it seems most just;Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.It shall be cause of war and dire events,And set dissension twixt the son and sire;Subject and servile to all discontents,As dry combustious matter is to fire:Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.

Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.