Quotes from William Shakespeare

It will have blood they say - blood will have blood.

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad.

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear

When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?

The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.

But, soft! methinks I do digress too much

Tis hatched and shall be so

Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.

they have seem'd to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it were from the ends of opposed winds.

Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

And Sir, it is no little thing to make mine eyes to sweat compassion.

The April's in her eyes: it is love's Spring, And these the showers to bring it on..

Cheerily to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France

And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.

Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves.

What man I dare, I dare. Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, the armed rhinoceros, or th' Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves shall never tremble.

Tis too much proved—that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The devil himself.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving

Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die.

If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues.

For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.

You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.