Quotes by William Shakespeare

Nought’s had, all’s spent, where our desire is got without content.

He stopped the flyersAnd by his rare example made the cowardTurn terror into sport. As weeds beforeA vessel under sail, so men obeyedAnd fell below his stem. His sword, Deaths stamp,Where it did mark, it took; from face to footHe was a thing of blood, whose every motionWas timed with dying cries. Alone he enteredThe mortal gate o th city, which he paintedWith shunless destiny; aidless came offAnd with a sudden reinforcement struckCorioles like a planet. Now alls his,When by and by the dim of war gan pierceHis ready sense; then straight his doubled spiritRequickened what in flesh was fatigate,And to the battle came he, where he didRun reeking oer the lives of men as ifTwere a perpetual spoil; and till we calledBoth field and city ours, he never stoodTo ease his breast with panting.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.

O, thats a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely,

O, thats a brave man! He writes brave versrs, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely,

Sweet are the uses of adversityWhich, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

Sweet are the uses of adversity.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

The shadow of my sorrow. Lets see, tis very true. My griefs lie all within and these external manners of laments are mere shadows to the unseen grief which swells with silence in the tortured soul.There lies the substance.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

Ill read enoughWhen I do see the very book indeedWhere all my sins are writ, and thats myself.Give me that glass and therein will I read.No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struckSo many blows upon this face of mineAnd made no deeper wounds?O flattering glass,Like to my followers in prosperityThou dost beguile me!

Frailty, thy name is woman!—A little month, or ere those shoes were oldWith which she followd my poor fathers body,Like Niobe, all tears:—

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

DESDEMONA: I hope my noble lord esteems me honest.OTHELLO: Oh, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,Who art so lovely fair and smell’st so sweetThat the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst neer been born!DESDEMONA: Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?OTHELLO: Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,Made to write “whore” upon?

CASSIO: Dost thou hear, my honest friend?CLOWN: No, I hear not your honest friend, I hear you.CASSIO: Prithee, keep up thy quillets.

Sir, he hath not fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts... (Act IV, Scene II)

DEMETRIUSRelent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yieldThy crazed title to my certain right.LYSANDERYou have her fathers love, Demetrius;Let me have Hermias: do you marry him.

QUINCEFrancis Flute, the bellows-mender.FLUTEHere, Peter Quince.QUINCEFlute, you must take Thisby on you.FLUTEWhat is Thisby? a wandering knight?QUINCEIt is the lady that Pyramus must love.FLUTENay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

Either to die the death or to abjureFor ever the society of men.Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;Know of your youth, examine well your blood,Whether, if you yield not to your fathers choice,You can endure the livery of a nun,For aye to be in shady cloister mewd,To live a barren sister all your life,Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;But earthlier happy is the rose distilld,Than that which withering on the virgin thornGrows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

Our nearness to the king in love is nearness to those who love not the king.