Quotes from William Shakespeare

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.

Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.

So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem.

April hath put a spirit of youth in everything. (Sonnet XCVIII)

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Thus I die. Thus, thus, thus. Now I am dead, Now I am fled, My soul is in the sky. Tongue, lose thy light. Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die.

it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance

Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.

Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better.

O, brave new world that has such people in't!

No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here;

His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.

And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.

You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.

Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, oh you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death!

I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all. Believe none of us.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.

What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?

Thou art a very ragged Wart.