Quotes from William Shakespeare

Thou art the Mars of malcontents.

Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

More matter with less art.

The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.

O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart."-Helena

Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?

Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.

What e'er thou art, act well thy part.

Happy thou art not; for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get; and what thou hast, forgettest.

Thou art a Castilian King urinal!

My cousin's a fool, and thou art another.

Thou art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.

To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand; therefore, if tou art mov'd, thou runst away. (To be angry is to move, to be brave is to stand still. Therefore, if you're angry, you'll run away.)

Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.

Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.

Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.

thou art the best o' the cut-throats

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.