Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them
I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.
Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.
The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.
Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.
Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind And makes it fearful and degenerate.
My endeavors Have ever come too short of my desires. Yet filed with my abilities.
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
Through tattered clothes, small vices do appear. Robes and furred gowns hide all.
I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish th' estate o' th' world were now undone.
Alas, our frailty is the cause , not we! For, such as we are made of, such we be.
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England; fairly met!
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity
And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd
A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Too much to know is to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name.
Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.
The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.
I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are our learning likewise is.
Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
To persist in doing wrong extenuates not the wrong, but makes it much more heavy.
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.
He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.
Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent.
One sin, I know, another doth provoke. Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke.
Haply a woman's voice may do some good When articles too nicely urged be stood on.
To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
No metal can--no, not the hangman's axe--bear half the keenness of thy sharp envy.
The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects, and his royal friends.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?