Quotes
Quotes about Night
These blessed candles of the night. -The Merchant of Venice. Act. v. Sc. 1.
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.
I am sure care 's an enemy to life. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
At my fingers' ends. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
Wherefore are these things hid? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
Is it a world to hide virtues in? -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 3.
One draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
We will draw the curtain and show you the picture. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out. -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 5.
Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.
These most brisk and giddy-paced times. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.
A nightingale dies for shame if another bird sings better.
And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.
Through the black night and driving rain A ship is struggling, all in vain, To live upon the stormy main;-- Miserere Domine!
Is Brutus sick, and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the night, And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air, To add unto his sickness?
I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.
He sees only night, and hears only silence. [Fr., Il ne voit que la nuit, n'entend que le silence.]
