Quotes by William Shakespeare

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?O, stay and hear; your true loves coming,That can sing both high and low:Trip no further, pretty sweeting;Journeys end in lovers meeting,Every wise mans son doth know.What is love? Tis not hereafter;Present mirth hath present laughter;Whats to come is still unsure:In delay there lies not plenty;Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,Youths a stuff will not endure.

If I were to kiss you then go to hell, I would. So then I can brag with the devils I saw heaven without ever entering it.

turn him into stars and form a constellation in his image. His face will make the heavens so beautiful that the world will fall in love with the night and forget about the garish sun.

Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scornThe power of man, for none of woman bornShall harm Macbeth.

To be thus is nothing, but to be safely thus...

Sometime [Queen Mab] driveth oer a soldiers neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,Of healths five fathom deep; and then anonDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or twoAnd sleeps again

Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove.O no, it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandring bark,Whose worths unknown, although his height be t

Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,The death of each days life, sore labors bath,Balm of hurt minds, great natures second course,Chief nourisher in lifes feast.

Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit,And look on death itself!

The death of each days life

What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts...

Thy best of rest is sleep,And that thou oft provokst; yet grossly fearstThy death, which is no more.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:She swore,––in faith, twas strange, twas passing strange;Twas pitiful, twas wondrous pitiful:She wishd she had not heard it, yet she wishdThat heaven had made her such a man: she thankd me,And bade me, if I had a friend that lovd her,I should but teach him how to tell my story.And that would woo her.

...and whats his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us; do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

Mislike me not for my complexion,The shadowed livery of the burnished sun,To whom I am a neighbor and near bred.Bring me the fairest creature northward born,Where Phoebus fire scarce thaws the icicles,And let us make incision for your loveTo prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.

But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join together at the latter day and cry all We died at such a place; some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of anything, when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of subjection.[Henry V, Act IV Scene I]

From too much liberty, my Lucio, libertyAs surfeit is the father of much fast,So every scope of the immoderate useTurns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, -Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, - A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.

PORTERThis is a lot of knocking! Come to think of it, if a man were in charge of opening the gates of hell to let people in, he would have to turn the key a lot.

To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently abeast!