Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
Come, my coach! Good night, sweet ladies; good night.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would.
Nature is fine in love, and where 't is fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance;... and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
You must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered.
His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll.
A very riband in the cap of youth.
That we would do,
We should do when we would.
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow.
Nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will.
1 Clo. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.
2 Clo. But is this law?
1 Clo. Ay, marry, is 't; crowner's quest law.
There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners.
Cudgel thy brains no more about it.
Has this fellow no feeling of his business?
Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.
The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
A politician,... one that would circumvent God.
Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks?
One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.
How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us.
The age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now; your gambols, your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come.
To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till we find it stopping a bung-hole?
'T were to consider too curiously, to consider so.
