Quotes from William Shakespeare

Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter'd in one day, and I the elder and more terrible.

Your if is the only peacemaker; much virtue in if.

Ready to go but never to return.

I could be well moved, if I were as you; If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.

For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away

The rain, it raineth every day.

I was born free as Caesar; so were you

What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red." "My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white. A little water clears us of this deed: How easy it is then! Your constancy hath left you unattended.

Mañana, y mañana, y mañana se arrastra con paso mezquino día tras día hasta la sílaba final del tiempo escrito, y la luz de todo nuestro ayer guió a los bobos hacia el polvo de la muerte. ¡Apágate, apágate breve llama! La vida es una sombra que camina, un pobre actor que en escena se arrebata y contonea y nunca más se le oye. Es un cuento que cuenta un idiota, lleno de ruido y de furia, que no significa nada.

To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

So many horrid Ghosts.

So. Lie there, my art.

My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. LYSANDER You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

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;

Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.

There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.

I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.

It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance

La vida es mi tortura y la muerte será mi descanso.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars But in ourselves, that we are underlings.