Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
The charm dissolves apace; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason.
Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it.
When he shall die Take him and cut him in little stars And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how In this our pinching cave shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Man delights not me--nor woman neither, though, by your smiling you seem to say so.
Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book, To seek the light of truth, which truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.
This Tharsus, o'er which I have the government, A city on whom Plenty held full hand, For Riches strewed herself even in her streets; Whose towers bore heads so high they kissed the clouds, And strangers ne'er beheld but wond'red at; Whose men and dames so jetted and adorned, Like one another's glass to trim them by; Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight, And not so much to feed on as delight; All poverty was scorned, and pride so great The name of help grew odious to repeat.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Give me my robe, put on my crown, I have Immortal longings in me.
I do desire we may be better strangers.
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
Had doting Priam checked his son's desire, Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.
O that this too too sullied flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew, Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter.
They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, But bear-like I must fight the course.
If thou dost slander her and torture me, Never pray more; abandon all remorse; On horror's head horrors accumulate; Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed; For nothing canst thou to damnation add Greater than that.
O, break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once! To prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here, And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
But, O thou tyrant, Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir. Therefore betake thee To nothing but despair.
He who has never hoped can never despair.
