Quotes by William Shakespeare

Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

Some are born great, others achieve greatness.

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

Alls well that ends well.

Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave oerhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

All causes shall give way: I am in bloodStepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go o’er.

The Plays the Thing, wherein Ill catch the conscience of the King.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/ But in ourselves.

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover,To entertain these fair well-spoken days, —I am determined to prove a villain,And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where menMay read strange matters. To beguile the time,Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,But be the serpent undert.

The sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness. And in the taste destroys the appetite. Therefore, love moderately.

You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.

They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.

Yet but three come one more.Two of both kinds make up four.Ere she comes curst and sad.Cupid is a knavish lad.Thus to make poor females mad.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.

By my soul I swear, there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me.

Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.