Quotes from William Shakespeare

if I were the Moor I wouldn't want to be Iago.

Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.

I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,—

A dream itself is but a shadow.

Then to the elements be free...

Cease thy counsel, for thy words fall into my ears as priceless as water into a sieve.

i buy a thousand pound a year! i buy a rope!

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile; So ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.

I must become a borrower of the night.

I think the sun where he were born drew all such humours from him.

She loves him with an enraged affection, it is past the infinite of thought.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you? HAMLET Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.

Mieux vaut mourir incompris que passer sa vie à s'expliquer.

We strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are no more.

What time o' day? ROSALINE: The hour that fools should ask.

O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd, That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!

Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, till famine cling thee.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong: To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast!

What if this cursed hand were thicker than itself with brother's blood, is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy but to confront the visage of offense? And what's in prayer but this twofold force, to be forestalled ere we come to fall, or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up. My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer can serve my tern? 'Forgive me my foul murder'?

jealous souls need no evidence. They aren't jealous because of a reason, but merely because they are jealous people. Jealousy is a monster that gives birth to itself.

A murderer's guilt is easier to hide than feelings of love. Midday is like nighttime for love—that's how brightly passion shines.

Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!