Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.
The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, Which hurts and is desired.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber’d oak.
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.
Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.
Think you I bear the shears of destiny? Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
I will praise any man that will praise me.
But that your royal pleasure must be done, This act is as an ancient tale new told, And in the last repeating troublesome, Being urged at a time unreasonable.
The cunning livery of hell.
Love is too young to know what conscience is.
O serpent heart, hid with a flow’ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
If music be the food of love, play on; give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die.
I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it
As he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him .
Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enjoyed, If both remain alive. To take the widow
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being alive.
Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
A virtuous and a Christianlike conclusion– To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.
Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
The jury, passing on the prisoner’s life, May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two Guiltier than him they try.
Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.
My love’s more richer than my tongue.
I’ll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand As is a man were author of himself And knew no other kin.
Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
He that doth the ravens feed. Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. Be comfort to my age!
It is religion to be thus forsworn, For charity itself fulfills the law And who can never love from charity?
Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow.
Friends, Romans countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
We have heard the chimes at midnight.
It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear .
An overflow of good converts to bad.
The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.
Things past redress are now with me past care.
Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in live. Now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe Upon a dwarfish thief.
See, your guests approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let’s be red with mirth.
Remember, sir, my liege, The kings your ancestors, together with The natural bravery of your isle, which stands As Neptune’s park, ribbed and paled in With rocks unscalable and roaring waters, With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats But suck them up to th’ topmast.
Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. A man I am, crossed with adversity; My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have.
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.
My man’s as true as steel.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on. – .
Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has.
Come, our stomachs Will make what’s homely savory.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow’d true.
The royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world,
If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.
When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
A walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.