Quotes
Quotes - Shakespeare
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
These most brisk and giddy-paced times.
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.
Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.
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.
Duke. And what's her history?
Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.
I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too.
An you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere.
Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter.
I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.
Put thyself into the trick of singularity.
'T is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan.
This is very midsummer madness.
What, man! defy the Devil: consider, he is an enemy to mankind.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
More matter for a May morning.
Still you keep o' the windy side of the law.
An I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I 'ld have seen him damned ere I' ld have challenged him.
Out of my lean and low ability
I 'll lend you something.
Out of the jaws of death.
As the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, That that is, is.
