Quotes from William Shakespeare

What may this mean,That thou, dead corse, again in complete steelRevisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,Making night hideous; and we fools of natureSo horridly to shake our dispositionWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

This earth, that bears thee dead,Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.

But all the story of the night told over,And all their minds transfigur'd so together,More witnesseth than fancy's images,And grows to something of great constancy,But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

We cannot all be masters.

Be absolute for death.

Charm ache with air and agony with words.

Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul.

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.

A very riband in the cap of youth.

The quick comediansExtemporally will stage us, and presentOur Alexandrian revels. AntonyShall be brought drunken forth, and I shall seeSome squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatnessI' the posture of a whore.

Julia: They do not love that do not show their love.Lucetta: O! they love least that let men know their love.

There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.

And it is greatTo do that thing that ends all other deeds,Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change.

One fair daughter and no more,The which he loved passing well.

O God! that one might read the book of fate.

There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.

O! pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,That I am meek and gentle with these butchers;Thou art the ruins of the noblest manThat ever lived in the tide of times.

Cursed be my tribe,If I forgive him!

The very staff of my age, my very prop.

The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

Let us make an honorable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

But yet the pity of it, Iago! O! Iago, the pity of it, Iago!