Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired, swoon, I think, To show myself a glass.
The birds chaunt melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, And make a checkered shadow on the ground; Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise; And after conflict such as was supposed The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed, When with a happy storm they were surprised, And curtained with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber, Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.
Have more than thou showest,Speak less than thou knowest.
All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown. Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.
The general's disdained By him one step below, he by the next, The next by him beneath; so every step, Exampled by the first pace that is sick Of his superior, grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation: And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, Not her own sinews.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.
My mind gave me, In seeking tales and informations Against this man, whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at, Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!
We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves And spend our flatteries to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again With poisonous spite and envy.
Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can-- No, not the hangman's axe--bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
So shall you hear Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts, Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters, Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause, And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on th' inventors' heads.
Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find, The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must error.
He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in.
He was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.
I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. Th' imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.
Many a time and oft Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, To tow'rs and windows, yea, to chimney tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.
Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.
He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion. He hath indeed bettered expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how.
We have scorched the snake, not killed it. She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth.
