Quotes from William Shakespeare

The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud For grief is proud an't makes his owner stoop

Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame.

Experience is by industry achieved, and perfected by the swift course of time

We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

He that is proud eats up himself; pride in his glass, his trumpet, his chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise

There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.

A man cannot make him laugh; but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine

Service is no heritage.

The fashion wears out more apparel than the man.

A long-tongued, babbling gossip.

Were't not affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honored love, I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad Than, living dully sluggardized at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.

They say the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain

Pity is the virture of the law, and none but tyrants use it cruelly.

Let me be cruel, not unnatural; I will speak daggers to her, but use none. My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites: How in my words somever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent!

Security is the chief enemy of mortals.

Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised, And mine that I was proud on--mine so much That I myself was to myself not mine, Valuing of her--why she, O, she is fall'n Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again, And salt too little which may season give To her foul tainted flesh!

A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.

Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use

The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed.

The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.

But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon, And the imperial vot'ress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free.