Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
The head is not more native to the heart.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
All that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not "seems."
'T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black.
But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
'T is a fault to Heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd.
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
That it should come to this!
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly.
Why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month.
Like Niobe, all tears.
A beast, that wants discourse of reason.
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
It is not nor it cannot come to good.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Season your admiration for a while.
In the dead vast and middle of the night.
Arm'd at point exactly, cap-a-pe.
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Ham. His beard was grizzled,--no?
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
