Quotes
Quotes about Word
Who so shall telle a tale after a man,
He moste reherse, as neighe as ever he can,
Everich word, if it be in his charge,
All speke he never so rudely and so large;
Or elles he moste tellen his tale untrewe,
Or feinen thinges, or finden wordes newe.
It hurteth not the toung to give faire words.
Silence in love bewrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty:
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.
Let no man value at a little price
A virtuous woman's counsel; her wing'd spirit
Is feather'd oftentimes with heavenly words.
Words writ in waters.
Fair words never hurt the tongue.
Cel. Not a word?
Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.
Answer me in one word.
Whose words all ears took captive.
Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.
Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on,--how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour; what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. 'T is insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I 'll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism.
Full bravely hast thou fleshed
Thy maiden sword.
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Men of few words are the best men.
Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,--
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,--
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
'T is well said again,
And 't is a kind of good deed to say well:
And yet words are no deeds.
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords.
A word and a blow.
The damned use that word in hell.
Why, then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
"Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
And bade him follow.
But yesterday the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
And leave them honeyless.
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.
