Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
Fly pride, says the peacock: mistress, that you know.
Why, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock--a stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning; bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say, 'There were wit in this head an 'twould out'; and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while And like a peacock sweep along his tail; We'll pull his plumes and take away his train, If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.
Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter.
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honor bright; to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mock'ry.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hews down and fells the hardest-timbered oak.
I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
I'll give thee armor to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
(Celia:) Here come Monsieur Le Beau. (Rosalind:) With his mouth full of news. (Celia:) Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. (Rosalind:) Then shall we be news-crammed.
Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion.
This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons pease, And utters it again when God doth please.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness married to thy stronger state Makes with me thy strength to communicate. If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; Who all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.
Oh, what a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.
The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead, And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.
Why, who cries out on pride That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea Till that the weary very means do ebb?
O, this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a robe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such pain the cap of him that makes him fine Yet keeps his book uncrossed.
He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens of it Cry 'No recovery.'
He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
I do not hate a proud man, as I do hate the engendering of toads.
It may do good; pride hath no other glass To show itself but pride, for supple knees Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
