Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
Are you drawn forth among a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offense? Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence's death Before I be convict by course of law? To threaten me with death is most unlawful: I charge you, as you hope [to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,] That you depart, and lay no hands on me. The deed you undertake is damnable.
Two starving men cannot be twice as hungry as one; but two rascals can be ten times as vicious as one.
I take to-day a wife, and my election Is led on in the conduct of my will-- My will enkindled my by mine and ears Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.
Here, here, and everywhere, he leaves and takes, Dexterity so obeying appetite That what he will he does, and does so much That proof is called impossibility.
Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
Of all complexions the culled sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, Where several worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping!
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud Without our special wonder?
It will have blood, they say: blood will have blood. Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augures and understood relations have By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?
She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.
Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.
O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you.
I have had my labor for my travail; ill-thought-on of her, and ill-thought-on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my labor.
Another lean unwashed artificer Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death.
Why, universal plodding poisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long-during action tires The sinewy vigor of the traveller.
Stoop, boys. This gate Instructs you how t' adore the heavens and bows you To a morning's holy office.
Intend some fear; Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit; And look you get a prayer book in your hand And stand between two churchmen, good my lord, For on that ground I'll make a holy descant; And be not easily won to our requests.
(Goneril:) I have been worth the whistle. (Albany:) O Goneril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
I would that I were low laid in my grave. I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my mettle Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamped upon it.
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring, And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is called The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To th' bottom of the worst.
