Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock:
Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags."
And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial.
Motley's the only wear.
If ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms.
I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please.
The "why" is plain as way to parish church.
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days,
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
If ever sat at any good man's feast.
True is it that we have seen better days.
And wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd.
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind!
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.
It goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends.
This is the very false gallop of verses.
Let us make an honourable retreat.
With bag and baggage.
O, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping.
Answer me in one word.
I do desire we may be better strangers.
Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I 'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
Every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.
Neither rhyme nor reason.
