William Shakespeare

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Biography

William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright.Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon. Scholars believe that he died on his fifty-second birthday, coinciding with St George’s Day.At the age of 18 he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of the playing company the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others.Shakespeare produced most of his known work between 1590 and 1613. His early plays were mainly comedies and histories, genres he raised to the peak of sophistication and artistry by the end of the sixteenth century. Next he wrote mainly tragedies until about 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, considered some of the finest examples in the English language. In his last phase, he wrote tragicomedies, also known as romances, and collaborated with other playwrights. Many of his plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623, two of his former theatrical colleagues published the First Folio, a collected edition of his dramatic works that included all but two of the plays now recognised as Shakespeare's.Shakespeare was a respected poet and playwright in his own day, but his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, in particular, acclaimed Shakespeare's genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped Shakespeare with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry". In the twentieth century, his work was repeatedly adopted and rediscovered by new movements in scholarship and performance. His plays remain highly popular today and are consistently performed and reinterpreted in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world.According to historians, Shakespeare wrote 37 plays and 154 sonnets throughout the span of his life. Shakespeare's writing average was 1.5 plays a year since he first started writing in 1589. There have been plays and sonnets attributed to Shakespeare that were not authentically written by the great master of language and literature.

  • Primary profession
  • Writer·soundtrack·miscellaneous
  • Nationality
  • English
  • Gender
  • Male
  • Birth date
  • 21 September 1869
  • Place of birth
  • Stratford-upon-Avon
  • Death date
  • 1950-06-25
  • Death age
  • 52
  • Place of death
  • Stratford-upon-Avon
  • Cause of death
  • Natural causes
  • Residence
  • Stratford-upon-Avon
  • Children
  • Susanna Hall·Judith·Hamnet Shakespeare
  • Spouses
  • Anne Hathaway
  • Education
  • King Edward VI School· Stratford-upon-Avon
  • Knows language
  • English language
  • Member of
  • Notre Dame Fighting Irish football
  • Parents
  • John Shakespeare·Mary Shakespeare
  • Influence
  • Lucius Annaeus Seneca·Christopher Marlowe·Thomas Kyd·Homer·Ovid·

Music

Books

Awards

Trivia

In 1994, Charles Hamilton, a noted handwriting authority, published his edition of Shakespeare and John Fletcher s long-lost play, "Cardenio", which he believed had been masquerading as "The Second Maidens Tragedy", an unattributed play of the time, apparently the sequel to a Fletcher collaboration with Francis Beaumont. Because the names had been altered, Hamiltons identification of the play with Cardenio has been controversial, but has not been refuted. Hamilton believed it to be in the same hand as Shakespeares will, which he determined to match known examples of Shakespeares handwriting, rather than having been written by a scribe. Hamilton died in 1996.

William Beeston, son of Shakespeares friend actor Charles Beeston, described him as "a handsome, well-shapt man."

Family records 1564-1616 show 44 surname spellings.

In 1964, was the first person other than royalty to be portrayed on a British stamp.

In Manor Park, East London, there are streets that are named after him and his wife, Anne Hathaway: Shakespeare Crescent and Hathaway Crescent.

Pictured on a 5 US postage stamp issued to commemorate the 400th anniversary of his birth, 14 August 1964.

There are no living decendants from him. His family line ended in 1670 with the death of his granddaughter Elizabeth Hall Nash Barnard, who bore no children.

Two daughters and one son with Anne Hathaway: Susanna, Judith and Hamnet (twins).

"A great poet, a considerable philosopher, but, by modern standards, quite a poor playwright" - as described by Tom Conti in The Times of London, 26 February, 2003.

A number of his works have been adapted for other cultures. There exists a Zulu version of "Macbeth", and a Japanese Kabuki version of "Hamlet".

He is listed in the Guinness Book of World records as having the most number of screen adaptations by a single author. The record for adaptations by a living author goes to Stephen King.

It is speculated by some that Shakespeare was inspired to write "Hamlet" after the untimely death of his own son, Hamnet.

The date of Shakespeares death is April 23, 1616, only because Britain had not yet revised the calendar in accordance with the rest of Europe, which meant that the British calendar was ten days behind. If the calendar had been revised at that time, the date of his death would be May 3, 1616 (unlike Spanish author Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra , Shakespeares contemporary, who actually did pass away on April 23, 1616).

Shakespeare stood as godfather to the future Poet Laureate of England, William DAvenant (1606-1668), and DAvenant would later claim that that Shakespeare was his father in more than just God.

Invented many names that were popularized by his plays and entered common use. These names include: Miranda, Jessica, Ophelia, Audrey and Viola.

His comedic play, "Twelfth Night" performed at the Donmar Warehouse, was awarded the 2003 Laurence Olivier Theatre Award for Best Revival of 2002.

His play "Macbeth" is considered by many professional actors to be cursed. Productions are often plagued by bad luck. The most superstitious of actors believe that the mere mention of the plays name is enough to cause disaster. To avoid this, they refuse to mention the play by name, calling it "The Scottish Play" instead.

Laurence Olivier called his writings "the nearest thing in incarnation to the eye of God."

In 1964, the 400th anniversary of Shakespeares birth, there were at least four notable productions of "Hamlet" alone - the Richard Burton Broadway production, the Christopher Plummer made-for-TV film, the celebrated Russian-language film version (seldom seen in the U.S.), and Joseph Papp s Shakespeare Festival production, which was taped for TV.

Was the subject of a comic routine by Richard Buckley (aka Lord Buckley), where he was referred to as "Willie the Shake".

His father was a maker of gloves.

Portrayed by Reginald Gardiner in The Story of Mankind .

"The Comedy of Errors" - only one of Shakespeares many plays in which he mentions "America" (Act III/Scene 2).

Shakespeare willed his "second-best bed" to his wife, Anne Hathaway. Many scholars took that to be an insult, but this interpretation is incorrect. In 17th-century England, a homes best bed was reserved for guests; a husband and wife slept in the second-best one. Shakespeares gesture was a sentimental reminder of the love he bore his wife.

His play Romeo & Juliet borrows many plot elements from the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. Both are the children of feuding families. Pyramus, like Romeo, is led to believe that she has died, and stabs himself to be with her. Thisbe then follows suit. Romeo & Juliet was later a partial inspiration for the play Cyrano de Bergerac. Both begin with a duel, and feature an iconic balcony scene. When Cyrano insults his own nose, he ends with "And finally, parodying Pyramuss cries, Behold the nose that destroyed the beauty of its master features. It reddens with shame, the traitor!".

The first patron of Shakespeares company, The Lord Chamberlains Men, was Henry Carey, the illegitimate son of King Henry VIII.

The most successful American revival of one of his plays was Othello, which started in 1943 and ran for 296 performances until 1946. It starred Paul Robeson as Othello, Jos Ferrer as Iago, and Uta Hagen as Desdemona.

Inspired the Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC).

His play, "The Tempest," at the Mark Taper Forum Theatre in Los Angeles, California was awarded the 1979 Drama-Logue Award for Outstanding Production.

His play, "The Tempest" at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater in Chicago, Illinois was awarded the 2016 Joseph Jefferson (Equity) Award for Large Play Production.

Several pop songs reference him and his work, including "Romeo and Juliet" by Dire Straits , "Shakespeares Sister" by The Smiths and "Shakespeare in Love" by Layla Kaylif. The British progressive rock band Twelfth Night named themselves after his famous play.

Inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1983.

All-America halfback for the University of Notre Dames football team, 1933-1935.

Quotes

We owe God a death.

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father refuse thy name, thou art thyself thou not a montegue, what is montegue? tis nor hand nor foot nor any other part belonging to a man What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, So Romeo would were he not Romeo called retain such dear perfection to which he owes without that title, Romeo, Doth thy name! And for that name which is no part of thee, take all thyself.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1),They do not love that do not show their love.

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.

I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!,. . . Who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make love known?,Sweets to the sweet.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!,I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?,For she had eyes and chose me.

For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?,Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.

O, hereWill I set up my everlasting rest,And shake the yoke of inauspicious starsFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O youThe doors of breath, seal with a righteous kissA dateless bargain to engrossing death!,If music be the food of love, play on.

I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,To die upon the hand I love so well.

Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow. *,I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking and you beat love down.

I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Like madness is the glory of this life.

Out, out brief candle, life is but a walking shadow. . . a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

Of all the wonders that I have heard,It seems to me most strange that men should fear;Seeing death, a necessary end,Will come when it will come. (Act II, Scene 2),Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.

Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

Life. . . is a paradise to what we fear of death.

Of all knowledge, the wise and good seek mostly to know themselves.

This above all: to thine own self be true.

That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. (Enobarbus),Out of this nettle - danger - we pluck this flower - safety.

Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?Scorn and derision never come in tears:Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you,Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?,When he shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with nightAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.

He that hath the steerage of my course,Direct my sail.

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

My soul is in the sky.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

Men must endureTheir going hence, even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.

There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.

His life was gentle; and the elementsSo mixed in him, that Nature might stand upAnd say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!,Tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him; The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones,With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table. " Macbeth,If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening . . .

If music be the food of love, play on,Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,The appetite may sicken, and so die.

My only love sprung from my only hate!Too early seen unknown, and known too late!Prodigious birth of love it is to me,That I must love a loathed enemy.

thus with a kiss I die,For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, oh you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death!,Suffer love! A good ephitet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.

These times of woe afford no time to woo.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

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 heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub.

Full fathom five thy father lies;Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong, bell.

One pain is lessened by another’s anguish. . . . Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.

Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come,Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!,Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;Life and these lips have long been separated:Death lies on her like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.

The rest, is silence.

true apothecary thy drugs art quick,whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

But thoughts the slave of life, and life, Time’s fool,And Time, that takes survey of all the world,Must have a stop.

Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,And all their ministers attend on him.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,So do our minutes hasten to their end;Each changing place with that which goes before,In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

ROSENCRANTZ My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king. HAMLET The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body. The king is a thing -GUILDENSTERN A thing my lord?HAMLET Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after!,La vida es mi tortura y la muerte será mi descanso.

All things that we ordained festival,Turn from their office to black funeral;Our instruments to melancholy bells,Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,And all things change them to the contrary.

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell;Nay, if you read this line, remember notThe hand that writ it; for I love you so,That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,If thinking on me then would make you woe.

Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seatin this distracted globe. Remember thee?,Love is holy.

През дрипите прозира всеки грях,а мантии и шуби скриват всичко!,I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus; and we petty menWalk under his huge legs, and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.

A lover goes toward his beloved as enthusiastically as a schoolboy leaving his books, but when he leaves his girlfriend, he feels as miserable as the schoolboy on his way to school. (Act 2, scene 2),All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

Then others for breath of words respect,Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune but to write and read comes by nature.

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascendThe brightest heaven of invention!,Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow,The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?,So may the outward shows be least themselves:The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,Obscures the show of evil? In religion,What damned error, but some sober browWill bless it and approve it with a text,Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?There is no vice so simple but assumesSome mark of virtue on his outward parts.

We, ignorant of ourselves,Beg often our own harms, which the wise powersDeny us for our good; so find we profitBy losing of our prayers.

Come on then, I will swear to study soTo know the thing I am forbid to know- Berowne,O teach me how I should forget to think (1. 1. 224),Educated men are so impressive!,Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,By self-example mayst thou be denied.

Master, go on, and I will follow theeTo the last gasp with truth and loyalty.

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

Love is not loveWhich alters when alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:Oh, no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,that looks on tempests and is never shaken.

Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.

Four days will quickly steep themselves in nightsFour nights will quickly dream away the time.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty face from day to day.

[Thou] mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms!,[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.

Thou art a very ragged Wart.

How art thou out of breath when thou hast breathTo say to me that thou art out of breath?,The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.

I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,Displant a town, reverse a prince’s doom,It helps not, it prevails not.

she shall scant show well that now shows best.

Glendower: I can call the spirits from the vasty deep. Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man;But will they come, when you do call for them?,There are more things in heaven and earth. . . than are dreamt of by your philosophy.

There is more things in heaven and earth. . . than are dreamt of by your philosophy.

And this our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything. I would not change it.

In time we hate that which we often fear.

Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.

. . . what care I for words? Yet words do wellWhen he that speaks them pleases those that hear.

Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,All losses are restored and sorrows end.

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

. . . and then, in dreaming, / The clouds methought would open and show riches / Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked / I cried to dream again.

Thought is free.

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

DON PEDROCome, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick. BEATRICEIndeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. DON PEDROYou have put him down, lady, you have put him down. BEATRICESo I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools.

Were kisses all the joys in bed,/One woman would another wed.

Proper deformity shows not in the fiendSo horrid as in woman.

Why should their liberty than ours be more?,For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Friendship is constant in all other thingsSave in the office and affairs of love. Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues. Let every eye negotiate for itself,And trust no agent; for beauty is a witchAgainst whose charms faith melteth into blood.

O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comesIn shape no bigger than an agate stoneOn the forefinger of an alderman,Drawn with a team of little atomiAthwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,That millions of strange shadows on you tend?Since everyone hath every one, one shade,And you, but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeitIs poorly imitated after you. On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,And you in Grecian tires are painted new. Speak of the spring and foison of the year;The one doth shadow of your beauty show,The other as your bounty doth appear,And you in every blessèd shape we know. In all external grace you have some part,But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuadeThe eyes of men without orator.

A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.

So. Lie there, my art.

My liege, and madam, to expostulateWhat majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time,Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,I will be brief.

We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.

Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of our generation you shall find.

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.

A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.

Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,And for thy maintenance; commits his bodyTo painful labor, both by sea and land;To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,Whilst thou li’st warm at home, secure and safe;And craves no other tribute at thy handsBut love, fair looks, and true obedience-Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince,Even such a woman oweth to her husband;And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,And no obedient to his honest will,What is she but a foul contending rebel,And graceless traitor to her loving lord?I asham’d that women are so simple‘To offer war where they should kneel for peace,Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,Should well agree with our external parts?,MARCUS ANDRONICUS: Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?TITUS ANDRONICUS: Ha, ha, ha!MARCUS ANDRONICUS: Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS: Why, I have not another tear to shed:,When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.

Wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

And too soon Marred are those so early Made.

I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself.

Now go with me and with this holy manInto the chantry by: there, before him,And underneath that consecrated roof,Plight me the full assurance of your faith.

Such a mad marriage never was before.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.

By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, but music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night and his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

They do not love, that do not show their love.

The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.

This is the very ecstasy of love,Whose violent property fordoes itselfAnd leads the will to desperate undertakingsAs oft as any passion under heavenThat does afflict our natures.

Have not we affections and desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?,Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,Is the immediate jewel of their souls: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 nameRobs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.

Refrain to-night;And that shall lend a kind of easinessTo the next abstinence, the next more easy;For use almost can change the stamp of nature,And either master the devil or throw him outWith wondrous potency.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men and hang up them.

What we are is not all that we may become.

Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

Say a day without the ever.

Men of few words are the best men. "(3. 2. 41),Suit the action to the word, theWord to the action.

They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.

. . . speak to me as to thy thinkingAs thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughtsThe worst of words. . .

Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor?Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest. Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart. Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.

Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind, And makes it fearful and degenerate; Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.

Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none: And some condemned for a fault alone.

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,When other petty griefs have done their spite,But in the onset come: so shall I tasteAt first the very worst of fortune’s might;And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,Compar’d with loss of thee will not seem so.

To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be, it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the King. Our power is ready;Our lack is nothing but our leave. MacbethIs ripe for shaking, and the powers abovePut on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds th,To weep is to make less the depth of grief.

Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

Some grief shows much of love,But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

I have a soul of leadSo stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

​Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall carve of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.

Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upwardTo what they were before.

But I am bound upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears do scald like moulten lead.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:Then, heigh-ho, the holly!This life is most jolly.

HIPPOLYTABut all the story of the night told over,And all their minds transfigured so together,More witnesseth than fancy’s imagesAnd grows to something of great constancy,But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

Men should be what they seem.

Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.

Small herbs have grace, great weeds to grow apace.

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,And ye that on the sands with printless footDo chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly himWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets thatBy moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastimeIs to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoiceTo hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’dThe noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,And ‘twixt the green sea and the azured vaultSet roaring war: to the dread rattling thunderHave I given fire and rifted Jove’s stout oakWith his own bolt; the strong-based promontoryHave I made shake and by the spurs pluck’d upThe pine and cedar: graves at my commandHave waked their sleepers, oped, and let ‘em forthBy my so potent art. But this rough magicI here abjure, and, when I have requiredSome heavenly music, which even now I do,To work mine end upon their senses thatThis airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,And deeper than did ever plummet soundI’ll drown my book.

And now about the cauldron singLike elves and fairies in a ring,Enchanting all that you put in.

If this be magic, let it be an art lawful as eating.

And Sir, it is no little thing to make mine eyes to sweat compassion.

I must be cruel only to be kind;Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

He is as full of valor as of kindness. Princely in both.

And yet for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean. Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano!,How now, spirit, whither wander you?,Well, I must do’t. Away, my disposition, and possess me Some harlot’s spirit! My throat of war be turn’d, Which quier’d with my drum, into a pipe Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice That babies lull asleep! The smiles of knaves Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys’ tears take up The glasses of my sight! A beggar’s tongue Make motion through my lips, and my arm’d knees, Who bow’d but in my stirrup, bend like his That hath receiv’d an alms! I will not do’t, Lest I surcease to honor mine own truth, And by my body’s action teach my mind A most inherent baseness.

I am not gamesome: I do lack some partof that quick spirit that is in Antony.

Mum, mum,He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,Weary of all, shall want some.

Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.

Mark it, nuncle. Have more than thou showest,Speak less than thou knowest,Lend less than thou owest,Ride more than thou goest,Learn more than thou trowest,Set less than thou throwest,Leave thy drink and thy whoreAnd keep in-a-door,And thou shalt have moreThan two tens to a score.

He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.

I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.

All dark and comfortless.

Each new mornNew widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrowsStrike heaven on the face, that it resoundsAs if it felt with Scotland, and yelled outLike syllable of dolor.

I have set my life upon a cast,And I will stand the hazard of the die.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,Yet Grace must still look so.

Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.

Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.

There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will,Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus, and we petty menWalk under his huge legs and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our starsBut in ourselves, that we are underlings.

An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star!,. . What our contempt often hurls from us,We wish it our again; the present pleasure,By revolution lowering,does becomeThe opposite of itself. .

In thy foul throat thou liest.

It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.

Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her, But Romeo may not.

To be or not to be that is the question.

Men in rage strike those that wish them best.

Let us revenge this withour pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know Ispeak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.

I understand a fury in your wordsBut not your words.

Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare, forked animal as thou art.

What a piece of work is man!,My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.

Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!O any thing, of nothing first create!O heavy lightness! Serious vanity!Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?,My only love sprung from my only hate.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,I had as lief have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment.

I know you all, and will awhile uphold the unyoked humour of your idleness . . .

Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.

To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

Though I am not naturally honest, I am sometimes so by chance.

What a fool honesty is.

To be honest, as this world goes is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. Hamlet Act II, Scene II Lines 178-179,Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. - Lucullus (Act III, scene 1),Ay,sir;to be honest,as this world goes,is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

I do believe you think what now you speak,But what we do determine oft we break. Purpose is but the slave to memory,Of violent birth, but poor validity,Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree,But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. Most necessary ’tis that we forgetTo pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt. What to ourselves in passion we propose,The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.

For your sake, jewel,I am glad at soul I have no other child;For thy escape would teach me tyranny,To hang clogs on them.

The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in. You rub the soreWhen you should bring the plaster.

But then I sigh, with a piece of ScriptureTell them that God bids us to do evil for good; And thus I clothe my naked villanyWith odd old ends stolen out of Holy Writ;And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

We know what we are, but not what we may be.

He that commends me to mine own contentCommends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of waterThat in the ocean seeks another drop,Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:So I, to find a mother and a brother,In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Be as thou wast wont to be.

Be as thou wast wont to be. See as thou wast wont to see.

Cucullus non facit monachum; that’s as much to say, as I wear not motley in my brain.

Journeys end in lovers meeting.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife. O, I am fortune’s fool! Then I defy you, stars.

O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been.

Beshrew me but I love her heartily, For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath proved herself: And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

Fit to govern? No, not fit to live.

Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

For it falls outThat what we have we prize not to the worthWhiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost,Why, then we rack the value, then we findThe virtue that possession would not show usWhile it was ours.

Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust. (Act V, Scene 2, 2503),The gods are just, and of our pleasant vicesMake instruments to plague us.

Few love to hear the sins they love to act.

Uncertain way of gain. But I am inSo far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Who knows himself a braggart, let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass.

Golden lads and girls all must, like chimmney-sweepers, come to dust.

We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow,such wanton, wild, and usual slips/ As are companions noted and most known/ To youth and liberty.

He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.

I will not be sworn, but love may trans-form me to an oyster, but, I’ll take my oath on it, till hehave made an oyster of me, he shall never make me sucha fool.

Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are.

Were such things here as we do speak about?Or have we eaten on the insane rootThat takes the reason prisoner?,. . . and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days. . .

. . . reason andlove keep little company together now-a-days. . .

The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.

Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.

If I were to kiss you then go to hell, I would. So then I can brag with the devils I saw heaven without ever entering it.

turn him into stars and form a constellation in his image. His face will make the heavens so beautiful that the world will fall in love with the night and forget about the garish sun.

To be thus is nothing, but to be safely thus. . .

Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit,And look on death itself!,The death of each days life,What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts. . .

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PORTERThis is a lot of knocking! Come to think of it, if a man were in charge of opening the gates of hell to let people in, he would have to turn the key a lot.

To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently abeast!,Nought’s had, all’s spent, where our desire is got without content.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.

Sweet are the uses of adversityWhich, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

Sweet are the uses of adversity.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.

QUINCEFrancis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTEHere, Peter Quince. QUINCEFlute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTEWhat is Thisby? a wandering knight?QUINCEIt is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTENay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

Our nearness to the king in love is nearness to those who love not the king.

The art of our necessities is strangeThat can make vile things precious.

If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?". - (Act III, scene I).

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

I charge thee, fling away ambition. By that sin fell the angels.

Ambition should be made from sterner stuff.

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.

Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt thou the sun doth moveDoubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love,Our doubts are traitors, and make us loose the good that we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

Shall we their fond pageant see?Lord, what fools these mortals be!,His jest shall savour but a shallow wit, when thousands more weep than did laugh it.

To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!I dare damnation,At this hourLie at my mercy all mine enemies.

Thou calledst me a dog before thou hadst a cause,But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.

But virtue, as it never will be moved,Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,So lust, though to a radiant angel linked,Will sate itself in a celestial bedAnd prey on garbage.

LEAR: . . . yet you see how this world goes. GLOS. : I see it feelingly.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,Shakes so my single state of manThat function is smothered in surmise,And nothing is but what is not.

How stand I, then,That have a father killed, a mother stained,Excitements of my reason and my blood,And let all sleep, while to my shame I seeThe imminent death of twenty thousand menThat for a fantasy and trick of fameGo to their graves like beds, fight for a plotWhereon the numbers cannot try the cause,Which is not tomb enough and continentTo hide the slain? O, from this time forthMy thoughts be bloody or be nothing,Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye.

Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.

To die is to be a counterfeit, for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man; but to counterfeit dying when a man thereby liveth is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt,It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Out, damned spot! out, I say!,What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hathsuch meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?,Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as whenThe bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,Her ashes new-create another heirAs great in admiration as herself.

Not I; I must be found;My parts, my title, and my perfect soul,Shall manifest me rightly.

As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.

He was a man, take him for all in all,I shall not look upon his like again.

But if it be a sin to covet honour,I am the most offending soul alive.

Mine honor is my life; both grow in one. Take honor from me, and my life is done.

Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see,Time shall unfold what pleated cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

I would not put a thief in my mouth to steal my brains.

His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.

Come what come may, time and the hour run through the roughest day.

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark. (Act 5, Scene 2),Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.

Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.

It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world.

I profess myself an enemy to all other joys, which the most precious square of sense possesses, and find I am alone felicitate in your dear highness love.

Therefore love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

So our virtuesLie in the interpretation of the time:And power, unto itself most commendable,Hath not a tomb so evident as a chairTo extol what it hath done. One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thyeyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.

Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.

She will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her.

When devils will the blackest sins put onThey do suggest at first with heavenly shows,What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.

My noble father,I do perceive here a divided duty. To you I am bound for life and education. My life and education both do learn meHow to respect you. You are the lord of my duty,I am hitherto your daughter. But here’s my husband,And so much duty as my mother showedTo you, preferring you before her father,So much I challenge that I may professDue to the Moor my lord.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

Pour on, I will endure.

If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

So many horrid Ghosts.

From this day to the ending of the world,But we in it shall be remembered-We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;For he to-day that sheds his blood with meShall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,This day shall gentle his condition;And gentlemen in England now-a-bedShall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaksThat fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight. Mercutio: And so did I. Romeo: Well, what was yours?Mercutio: That dreamers often lie.

. . . and when he dies, cut him out in little stars, and the face of heaven will be so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no heed to the garish sun.

You speak an infinite deal of nothing.

These violent delights have violent endsAnd in their triump die, like fire and powderWhich, as they kiss, consume,Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

Some are born great, others achieve greatness.

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/ But in ourselves.

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover,To entertain these fair well-spoken days, —I am determined to prove a villain,And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

The sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness. And in the taste destroys the appetite. Therefore, love moderately.

You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.

They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.

By my soul I swear, there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me.

Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.

He kills her in her own humor.

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eyeThan twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,And I am proof against their enmity.

And since you know you cannot see yourself,so well as by reflection, I, your glass,will modestly discover to yourself,that of yourself which you yet know not of.

And nothing is, but what is not.

If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.

O, that he were here to write me down an ass! But, masters, remember, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.

I can call spirits from the vasty deep. "Why so can I, or so can any man. But will they come when you do call for them?,They are the books, the arts, the academes,That show, contain and nourish all the world.

Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*,But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

,Life is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,Pleasure and revenge have ears more deaf than adders to the voice of any true decision.

What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by. Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I.

[Act 5, Scene 4, ROSALIND] If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.

No, take more! What may be sworn by, both divine and human, Seal what I end withal! This double worship, Where [one] part does disdain with cause, the other Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom, Cannot conclude but by the yea and no Of general ignorance— it must omit Real necessities, and give way the while To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr’d, it follows Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore beseech you— You that will be less fearful than discreet; That love the fundamental part of state More than you doubt the change on’t; that prefer A noble life before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That’s sure of death without it— at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonor Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state Of that integrity which should become’t; Not having the power to do the good it would, For th’ ill which doth control’t.

Turn hell-hound, turn.

How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, Reason none, If what parts, can so remain.

Timon: I’ll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.

I’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two and wear my dagger with the braver grace,The rest is silence.

Then the conceit of this inconstant staySets you rich in youth before my sight,Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,To change your day of youth to sullied night;And all in war with Time for love of you,As he takes from you I engraft you new.

And shake the yoke of inauspicious starsFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!,For all that beauty that doth cover theeIs but the seemly raiment of my heart,Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me. How can I then be elder than thou art?,To give yourself away keep yourself still,And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.

Then of thy beauty do I question make,That thou among the wastes of time must go,Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,And die as fast as they see others grow.

By this reckoning he is more a shrew than she.

For I am born to tame you, Kate,And bring you from a wild Kate to a KateComfortable as other household Kates.

Of all matches never was the like.

Mother, I will look to like. If looking liking moves.

I have drunk,and seen the spider. "(Leontine, Act II Scene I),Benedick: I protest I love thee. Beatrice: Why, then, God forgive me!Benedick: What offence, sweet Beatrice?Beatrice: You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about toprotest I loved you. Benedick: And do it with all thy heart. Beatrice: I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.

We number nothing that we spend for you;Our duty is so rich, so infinite,That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,That we, like savages, may worship it.

Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts.

Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with nightAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.

Weaving spiders, come not here, Hence, you long legged spinners, hence! Beetles black, approach not here, worm nor snail, do no offense.

Reply not to me with a fool-born jest.

Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear,Thou lily-livered boy.

Of all mad matches never was the likeBeing mad herself, she’s madly mated.

The curse of true love never did run smooth.

Men from children nothing differ.

Get you gone, you dwarf,You minimus of hindering knotgrass made,You bead, you acorn!,Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh,Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.

Brief as the lightning in the collied night;That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth,And ere a man hath power to say "Behold!"The jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion.

They say an old man is twice a child,To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life.

The fiend gives the more friendly counsel.

Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.

He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!-Posthumus LeonatusAct V, Scene V,Women may fail when there is no strength in man,You gotta be cruel to be kind.

Diseases desperate grown,By desperate appliance are relieved,Or not at all.

Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fairTo be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.

Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.

Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know / When though didst hate him worst, thou loved’st him better / Than ever thou loved’st Cassius.

Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal the mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne.

His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, and they shall live, and he in them still green.

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.

See you now your bait of falsehood take this carp of truth; and thus do we of wisdom and of reach, with windlasses and with assays of bias, by indirections find directions out.

Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,/ Wherein the. . . enemy does much.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.

Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.

When we our betters see bearing our woes,We scarcely think our miseries our foes.

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!O any thing, of nothing first create!O heavy lightness, serious vanity,Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Oh why rebuke you him that loves you so? / Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Sometimes we punish our selves the most.

Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures. Lady Macbeth,Brevity is the soul of wit.

Jack shall have Jill. Nought shall go ill.

Good madonna, give me leave toprove you a fool.

The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to.

No longer mourn for me when I am deadthan you shall hear the surly sullen bell give warning to the world that I am fled from this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: nay, if you read this line, remember not the hand that writ it, for I love you so, that I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,if thinking on me then should make you woe. O! if, I say, you look upon this verse when I perhaps compounded am with clay, do not so much as my poor name rehearse; but let your love even with my life decay; lest the wise world should look into your moan, and mock you with me after I am gone.

What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,So stumblest on my counsel?*Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*,What are you doing sister? / Killing swine.

Things past redress are now with me past care.

A walking shadow a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.

Action is eloquence.

Sweet are the uses of adversity Which like the toad ugly and venomous Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

Have more than thou showest Speak less than thou knowest.

Age cannot wither her nor custom stale Her infinite variety.

An old man is twice a child.

Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?,Golden lads and girls all must As chimney-sweepers come to dust.

When that the poor have cried Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious And Brutus is an honourable man.

Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we often might win by fearing to attempt.

We are such stuff As dreams are made on and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

To business that we love we rise betime And go to it with delight.

God befriend us as our cause is just!,Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.

His life was gentle and the elements So mixed in him that nature might stand up,It is a wise father that knows his own child.

The people are the city.

The soul of this man is his clothes.

Conscience is but a word that cowards use Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.

Conscience does make cowards of us all.

He is well paid that is well satisfied.

Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.

Courage mounteth with occasion.

I must be cruel only to be kind.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

He that dies pays all debts.

I care not a man can die but once we owe God a death.

Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it.

The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns.

I am dying Egypt dying.

Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it.

Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

He that dies pays all debts.

There is a divinity that shapes our ends Rough-hew them how we will.

He will give the devil his due.

The prince of darkness is a gentleman.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

This too shall pass.

Come what come may time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

How poor are they that have not patience? What wound did ever heal but by degrees?,Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.

God grant us patience!,Now is the Winter of our discontent.

Let your own discretion be your tutor suit the action to the word the word to the action.

The better part of valour is discretion.

He hath eaten me out of house and home.

Have more than thou showest Speak less than thou knowest.

There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

The evil that men do lives after them The good is oft interred with their bones.

And oftentimes excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse - As patches set upon a little breach Discredit more in hiding of the fault Than did the fault before it was so patched.

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

God has given you one face and you make yourselves another.

The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars but in ourselves.

Fairies black grey green and white You moonshine revellers and shades of night.

Sweets to the sweet farewell!,The fashion wears out more apparel than the man.

I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.

That that is is.

It is a wise father that knows his own child.

Lord what fools these mortals be!,Let me embrace thee sour adversity for wise men say it is the wisest course.

He is well paid that is well satisfied.

My crown is called content a crown that seldom kings enjoy.

Poor and content is rich and rich enough.

O fortune fortune! all men call thee fickle.

There is a tide in the affairs of men Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune.

Frailty thy name is woman!,I am wealthy in my friends.

Those friends thou hast and their adoption tried grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.

The ripest fruit first falls.

Action is eloquence.

Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

Foul whisperings are abroad.

He does it with a better grace but I do it more natural.

Every one can master a grief but he that has it.

Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.

How use doth breed a habit in a man!,I do desire we may be better strangers.

Friends Romans countrymen lend me your ears.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at I am not what I am.

The cunning livery of hell.

The law hath not been dead though it hath slept.

He was a man take him for all in all I shall not look upon his like again.

God made him and therefore let him pass for a man.

Men must endure their going hence even as their coming hither ripeness is all.

Every man has his fault and honesty is his.

Ay sir to be honest as this world goes is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

For Brutus is an honourable man So are they all all honourable men.

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.

The miserable have no medicine but hope.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look.

Men are April when they woo December when they wed.

Reputation is an idle and most false imposition oft got without merit and lost without deserving.

Be thou as chaste as ice as pure as snow thou shalt not escape calumny.

O God that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should with joy pleas-ance revel and applause transform ourselves into beasts!,Self-love my liege is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.

Alas poor Yorick! I knew him Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest of most excellent fancy.

Jesters do often prove prophets.

I am a Jew: Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands organs dimensions senses affections passions? fed with die same food hurt with the same weapons subject to the same diseases healed by the same means warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?,I wish you all the joy that you can wish.

Sweets with sweets war not joy delights in joy.

A Daniel come to judgment! yea a Daniel! O wise young judge how I do honor thee!,Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves.

Forbear to judge for we are sinners all.

This bond is forfeit And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh.

At little more than kin and less than kind.

We know what we are but know not what we may be.

And seeing ignorance is the curse of God Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.

But for my own part it was Greek to me.

Such as we are made of such we be.

One man in his time plays many parts.

A light heart lives long.

Love sought is good but given unsought is better.

I shall not look upon his like again.

A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them - but not for love.

Ay me! for aught that I ever could read Could ever hear by tale or history The course of true love never did run smooth.

Give me my Romeo and when he shall die. Take him and cut him out in little stars And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Love sought is good but given unsought is better.

What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me: no nor woman neidier though by your smiling you seem to say so.

He was a man take him for all in all I shall not look upon his like again.

God has given you one face and you make yourselves another.

The dreadful dead of dark midnight.

Tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

The worst is not sSo long as we can say "This is the worst. ",Neither a borrower nor a lender be for loan oft loses both itself and friend and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

As full of spirit as the month of May.

The ides of March are come.

Murder most foul as in the best it is But this most foul strange and unnatural.

For murder though it have no tongue will speak With most miraculous organ.

The man that hath no music in himself Nor is no moved with concord of sweet sounds Is fit for treasons stratagems and spoils.

I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.

But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

Making night hideous.

Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.

This was the noblest Roman of them all.

Let them obey that know not how to rule.

The insolence of office.

Make use of time let not advantage slip.

I wasted time and now doth time waste me.

The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.

Come what may time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

Time is the king of men.

There is a tide in the affairs of men Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune.

My crown is called content a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Good-night good-night! parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good-night till it be morrow.

I am as poor as Job my lord but not so patient.

For there was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently.

There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

There was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently.

A politician one that would circumvent God.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Assume a virtue if you have it not.

I am as poor as Job my lord but not so patient.

The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars But in ourselves that we are underlings.

Now I am past all comforts here but prayer.

My words fly up my thoughts remain below Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

We do pray for mercy and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.

We ignorant of ourselves beg often our own harms which the wise powers deny us for our good.

Sermons in stones and good in every thing.

He that doth the ravens feed. Yea providently caters for the sparrow. Be comfort to my age!,He that doth the ravens feed. Yea providently caters for the sparrow. Be comfort to my age!,There is a divinity that shapes our ends Rough-hew them how we will.

We cannot all be masters.

Every why hath a wherefore.

The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation that away Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.

This above all: to thine own self be true.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Ay every inch a king.

Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars But in ourselves that we are underlings.

We cannot all be masters.

Self-love my liege is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

We know what we are but know not what we may be.

I to myself am dearer than a friend.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.

Men at some time are masters of their fates.

The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars but in ourselves.

My heart is ever at your service.

O shame! Where is they blush?,Ships are but boards sailors but men.

The rest is silence.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.

When sorrows come they come not as single spies But in battalions!,More in sorrow than in anger.

The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.

He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.

If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.

These blessed candles of the night.

And thereby hangs a tale.

Things done well and with care exempt themselves from fear.

Men at some time are masters of their fates.

To climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

Sweets to the sweet.

Talkers are no good doers.

If you have tears prepare to shed them now.

Beggar that I am I am even poor in thanks.

What is the city but the people?,If you can look into the seeds of time and say which grain will grow and which will not speak then to me.

Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.

Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear.

Past and to come seems best things present worst.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York.

A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!,There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Much rain wears the marble.

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

The time is out of joint.

O call back yesterday bid time return.

Make use of time let not advantage slip.

When I was at home I was in a better place but travellers must be content.

Et tu Brute! (You too Brutus!),To take arms against a sea of troubles.

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

I love thee I love but thee With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold And the stars grow old.

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

I love thee I love but thee With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold And the stars grow old.

Age cannot wither her nor custom stale Her infinite variety.

Her voice was ever soft Gentle and low an excellent thing in woman.

We few we happy few we band of brothers For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.

O war! thou son of Hell!,Can snore upon the flint when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard.

For some must watch while some must sleep thus runs the world away.

I must be cruel Only to be kind.

Blow wind and crack your cheeks. Rage! Blow!,Thy wish was father to that thought.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

Age cannot wither her nor custom stale her infinite variety other women cloy the appetites they feed but she makes hungry where most she satisfies.

Age cannot wither her nor custom stale Her infinite variety.

Fraily thy name is woman!,Sigh no more ladies sigh no more Men were deceivers ever One foot in sea and one on shore To one thing constant never.

Men are April when they woo December when they wed.

My word fly up my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world now lies he there And none so poor to do him reverence.

Taffeta phrases silken terms precise Three-piled hyperboles spruce affectation Figures pedantical.

If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.

The worst is not so long as we can say "This is the worst. ",Sweet are the uses of adversity.

Enter RUMOUR, painted full of ton,Rumour is a pipeBlown by surmises, jealousies, conjecturesAnd of so easy and so plain a stopThat the blunt monster with uncounted heads,The still-discordant wavering multitude,Can play upon it.

RUMOUR:"Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,The which in every language I pronounce,Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

It is a wise father that knows his own child.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.

The love of heaven makes one heavenly.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

I was adored once too.

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.

Fishes live in the sea, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?,Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.

Death is a fearful thing.

The valiant never taste of death but once.

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.

A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.

There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

The evil that men do lives after them the good is oft interred with their bones.

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.

Ignorance is the curse of God knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.

Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.

Boldness be my friend.

Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?,Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

To do a great right do a little wrong.

I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too!,When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.

Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.

Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.

Let no such man be trusted.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be.

My pride fell with my fortunes.

For I can raise no money by vile means.

Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.

This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

I bear a charmed life.

Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.

Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.

The evil that men do lives after them the good is oft interred with their bones.

But men are men the best sometimes forget. .

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