Quotes
Quotes about Name
Note 1.All cry and no wool.--Samuel Butler: Hudibras, part i. canto i. line 852.
Note 1.Altissima quæque flumina minimo sono labi (The deepest rivers flow with the least sound).--Q. Curtius, vii. 4. 13.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.--William Shakespeare: 2 Henry VI. act iii. sc. i.
Note 3.If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
George Wither: The Shepherd's Resolution.
Note 5.Written in a glass window obvious to the Queen's eye. "Her Majesty, either espying or being shown it, did under-write, ‘If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.'"--Thomas Fuller: Worthies of England, vol. i. p. 419.
So our lives
In acts exemplary, not only win
Ourselves good names, but doth to others give
Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live.
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out.
And if his name be George, I 'll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget men's names.
I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,--
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,--
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
The king's name is a tower of strength.
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations.
A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears,
And harsh in sound to thine.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.
Conjure with 'em,--
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
Tongue nor heart
Cannot conceive nor name thee!
A deed without a name.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep:
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--'t is a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
Your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure.
O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash; 't is something, nothing;
'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.
