Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
I have shot mine arrow o'er the house And hurt my brother.
Of moving accidents by flood and field.
If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue.
Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace.
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.
Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear. . . .
Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from human haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry. But were we burd'ned with like weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me; But if thou live to see like right bereft, This fool-begged patience in thee will be left.
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course.
His overthrow heaped happiness upon him; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little.
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.
Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. A man I am, crossed with adversity; My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have.
When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again.
Bosom upon my counsel; You'll find it wholesome.
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often stilled my brawling discontent.
Henceforth, I'll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself, 'Enough, enough, and die.'
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald me like molten lead.
Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. (Merchant Of Venice)
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance. -Shakespeare.
You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
Fare you well, my lord, and believe this of me: there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence.
(Cloten:) Thou villain base, Know'st me not by my clothes? (Guiderius:) No, nor thy tailor, rascal, Who is thy grandfather. He made those clothes, Which, as it seems, make thee.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy, For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
