Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
Let it be tenable in your silence still.
Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve.
Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The perfume and suppliance of a minute.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own rede.
Give thy thoughts no tongue.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.
Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,
Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Springes to catch woodcocks.
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows.
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence.
Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honoured in the breach than the observance.
Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee: I 'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Unhand me, gentlemen.
By heaven, I 'll make a ghost of him that lets me!
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
I am thy father's spirit,
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand an end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf.
O my prophetic soul!
My uncle!
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
