Quotes from William Shakespeare

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man.

How use doth breed a habit in a man.

Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

Bassanio: Do all men kill all the things they do not love? Shylock: Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bassanio: Every offence is not a hate at first.

Men at sometime are the masters of their fate.

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.

What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect that private men enjoy! And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony?

So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps.

Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead?

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade the eyes of men without an orator.

Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.

Great men should drink with harness on their throats.

How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness every where!

And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger.

And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...

Fairies, skip hence...

Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.

Women may fall when there's no strength in men.

Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.

Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing: That she beloved knows naught, that knows not this-- Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.

Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.

Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; but, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.

Men have marble, women waxen, minds.