Quotes by William Shakespeare

Fear no more the heat o the sun,Nor the furious winters rages;

I have more care to staythan will to go.

This is a way to kill a wife with kindness,And thus Ill curb her mad and headstrong humour.He that knows better how to tame a shrew,Now let him speak. Tis charity to show.

She vied so fast, protesting oath after oath,that in a twink she won me to her love.O, you are novices. Tis a world to seeHow tame, when men and women are alone,A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.

Beatrice: I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you.Benedick: What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?

BEROWNE: What time o day?ROSALINE: The hour that fools should ask.

By this reckoning he is more a shrew than she.

For I am born to tame you, Kate,And bring you from a wild Kate to a KateComfortable as other household Kates.

Of all matches never was the like.

Mother, I will look to like. If looking liking moves.

Your honours players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy,For so your doctors hold it very meet,Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.Therefore they thought it good you hear a play,And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,Which bars a thousand harms and lenghtens life.

I have drunk,and seen the spider.(Leontine, Act II Scene I)

Benedick: I protest I love thee.Beatrice: Why, then, God forgive me!Benedick: What offence, sweet Beatrice?Beatrice: You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about toprotest I loved you.Benedick: And do it with all thy heart.Beatrice: I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.

From womens eyes this doctrine I derive:They are the ground, the books, the academes,From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.

We number nothing that we spend for you;Our duty is so rich, so infinite,That we may do it still without accompt.Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,That we, like savages, may worship it.

Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts.

LXXVSo are you to my thoughts as food to life,Or as sweet-seasond showers are to the ground;And for the peace of you I hold such strifeAs twixt a miser and his wealth is found.Now proud as an enjoyer, and anonDoubting the filching age will steal his treasure;Now counting best to be with you alone,Then betterd that the world may see my pleasure:Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,And by and by clean starved for a look;Possessing or pursuing no delightSave what is had, or must from you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with nightAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.

Weaving spiders, come not here, Hence, you long legged spinners, hence! Beetles black, approach not here, worm nor snail, do no offense.

Reply not to me with a fool-born jest.