Quotes from William Shakespeare

A man whose bloodIs very snow-broth; one who never feelsThe wanton stings and motions of the sense.

O! for a falconer's voice,To lure this tassel-gentle back again.

For what is wedlock forced, but a hell,An age of discord and continual strife?Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,And is a pattern of celestial peace.

Tut! I have done a thousand dreadful thingsAs willingly as one would kill a fly.

Eternity was in our lips and eyes,Bliss in our brows bent.

Come away, come away, death,And in sad cypress let me be laid;Fly away, fly away, breath;I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly?

There are a sort of men whose visagesDo cream and mantle like a standing pond.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this bloodClean from my hand? No, this my hand will ratherThe multitudinous seas incarnadine,Making the green one red.

That England, that was wont to conquer others,Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Your mind is tossing on the ocean.

Hath not old custom made this life more sweetThan that of painted pomp? Are not these woodsMore free from peril than the envious court?

O that he were here to write me down an ass!

Conscience is but a word that cowards use,Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe.

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.

Now all the youth of England are on fire,And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.

Why should I play the Roman fool; and dieOn mine own sword?

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,Will sate itself in a celestial bed,And prey on garbage.

One for all, or all for one we gage.

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime.

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me,From mine own library with volumes thatI prize above my dukedom.

With devotion's visageAnd pious action we do sugar o'erThe devil himself.

Third Fisherman:… Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.First Fisherman: Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.

Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto?