Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
He that is robbed, not wanting what is stol'n, Let him not know't, and he's not robbed at all.
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing. 'Twas mine, 'tis 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.
Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to the Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
Give me the cups, And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, 'Now the king drinks to Hamlet.'
Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
I cannot, nor I will not hold me still; My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
You play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me.
So on the tip of his subduing tongue All kinds of arguments and question deep, All replication prompt and reason strong, For his advantage still did wake and sleep. To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, He had the dialect and different skill, Catching all passions in his craft of will; . . .
The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
All swol'n with chafing, down Adonis sits, Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast; And now the happy season once more fits That lovesick Love by pleading may be blest; For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong When it is barred the aidance of the tongue.
Et tu, Brute?--Then fall Caesar.
To say the truth, so Judas kissed his master And cried, 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm.
Thou know'st, great son, The end of war's uncertain, but this certain, That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name Whose repetition will be dogged with curses, Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out, Destroyed his country; and his name remains To th' ensuing age abhorred,' Speak to me son. Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor, To imitate the graces of the gods; To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air, And yet to change thy sulphur with a bolt That should rive an oak.
Though those that are betrayed Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Stands in worse case of woe.
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dressed myself in such humility That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Supposition all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
Some guard these traitors to the block of death, Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, And in his simple show he harbors treason.
Know my name is lost, By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit; Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.
Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause That admiration did not whoop at them; But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder to wait on treason and on murder; And whatsoever cunning fiend it was That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence.
Thou art a traitor. Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear I will not dine until I see the same.
To be, or not to be--that is the question: Whether 'tis 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.
Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.
Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
