Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
An hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peered forth the golden window of the east.
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Saint-seducing gold.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
One fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story.
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase.
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you!
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep.
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again.
True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
For you and I are past our dancing days.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear.
Shall have the chinks.
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar maid!
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
For stony limits cannot hold love out.
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords.
At lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs.
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
The god of my idolatry.
