William Shakespeare Quotes

Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.

Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

There's place and means for every man alive.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.

'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

Live how we can, yet die we must.

The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.

The rest, is silence.

And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!

You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.

Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth; the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. . . . Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.

Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!

Give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.

That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.

He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou has no name to be known by, let us call thee devil....O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

These signs have marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men.

The coward dies a thousand deaths, the valiant, only once!

A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.

The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

I am that merry wanderer of the night.

O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults, looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth

... And death unloads thee.

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.

I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimms, and makes it indistinct As water is in water

Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated

Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood.

whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.

Travelers must be content.

Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.

To sleep perchance to dream