Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog.
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.
Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.
O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue.
Read o'er this And after, this, and then to breakfast with What appetite you have.
No metal can--no, not the hangman's axe--bear half the keenness of thy sharp envy.
I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.
Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects, and his royal friends.
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.
No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.
Benvolio- "By my head, here come the Capulets." Mercutio- "By my heel, I care not.
O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do.
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day.
A heavier task could not have been impos'd, Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Jealousy is the fear or apprehension of superiority: envy our uneasiness under it.
A miser grows rich by seeming poor. An extravagant man grows poor by seeming rich.
The fund of sensible discourse is limited; that of jest and badinerie is infinite.
A miser grows rich by seeming poor; an extravagant man grows poor by seeming rich.
How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.
The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
The reason a poet is a poet is to write poems, not to advertise himself as a poet.
Far out of sight forever stands the sea, Bounding the land with pale tranquillity.
The true Tarot is symbolism; it speaks no other language and offers no other signs.
But all this world is like a tale we hear - Men's evil, and their glory, disappear.
Who lets slip fortune, her shall never find: Occasion once past by, is bald behind.
For the whole world, without a native home, Is nothing but a prison of larger room.
Abstract art: a construction site for high fashion, for advertising, for furniture.
In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppression, is violence.
The point is that it looks like gambling because the language of the game is money.
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.
That virtue only makes our bliss below, And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.
Condition, circumstance, is not the thing; Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
Not always actions show the man; we find who does a kindness is not therefore kind.
All seems infected that th' infected spy, As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.
All other goods by fortune's hand are given, A wife is the peculiar gift of Heaven.
Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.
Unblemish'd let me live or die unknown; Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!
For critics, as they are birds of prey, have ever a natural inclination to carrion.
And each blasphemer quite escape the rod, Because the insult's not on man, but God?
When to mischief mortals bend their will, how soon they find it instruments of ill.
Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear; 'Tis but the funeral of the former year.