Quotes from William Shakespeare

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.

To do a great right do a little wrong, And curb this cruel devil of his will.

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough; But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor;– Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy!

So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly; it strikes where it doth love.

the time of life is short; To spend that shortness basely were too long.

Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: We cannot fight for love, as men ay do; We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well.

I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?

Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.

This world's a city full of straying streets, and death's the market-place where each one meets.

What is in that word honor? What is that honor? Air. A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. 'Tis insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore, I'll none of it. Honor is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

A ministering angel shall my sister be.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself.

I cannot heave my heart into my mouth. I love your majesty according to my bond; no more no less.

Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*

The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.

Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.

The time is out of joint—O cursèd spite, That ever I was born to set it right!

By my head, here come the Capulets. Mercutio- By my heel, I care not.

There are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: So I to her and so she yields to me; For I am rough and woo not like a babe.