Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
O heart, be at peace, because Nor knave nor dolt can break What's not for their applause, Being for a woman's sake.
Boughs have their fruit and blossom At all times of the year; Rivers are running over With red beer and brown beer.
A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments: love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds.
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes.
One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
There is a law in each well-ordered nation To curb those raging appetites that are Most disobedient and refractory.
Laughing faces do not mean that there is absence of sorrow! But it means that they have the ability to deal with it
Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.
How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
Know my name is lost, By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit; Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.
Fight valiantly to-day; and yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, for thou art framed of the firm truth of valor.
I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.
Of all the fair resort of gentlemen That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
This day I breathed first: time is come round, And where I did begin there shall I end; My life is run his compass.
As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark...so many a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Ha. "Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner." There's a double meaning in that. -Benedick (Much Ado)
There is nothing more universally commended than a fine day; the reason is that people can commend it without envy.
The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.
She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!
In any man who dies there dies with him his first snow and kiss and fight... Not people die but worlds die in them.
Ambition often puts Men upon doing the meanest offices; so climbing is performed in the same position with creeping.
You have your identity when you find out, not what you can keep your mind ON, but what you can't keep your mind OFF.
We are, none of us, 'either' mothers or daughters; to our amazement, confusion, and greater complexity, we are both.
I think poets should work in the non-literary, non-academic world, get to know more than a workshop or a university.
I have been blessed by God. And if I'm blessed, there is one reason and one reason only, and that is to help others.
Genius creates, and taste preserves. Taste is the good sense of genius; without taste, genius is only sublime folly.
Homer excels all the inventors of other arts in this: that he has swallowed up the honor of those who succeeded him.
Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach.
When held up to the window pane, What fixed my baby stare? The glory of the glittering rain, And newness everywhere.
All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.
It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.
Beauty is a fading flower,Truth is but a wizard's tower,Where a solemn death-bell tolls,And a forest round it rolls.
All the good writers of confessions, from Augustine onwards, are men who are still a little in love with their sins.
My mouth is a fire escape. The words coming out don’t care that they are naked. There is something burning in there.
All human desire is poised on an axis of paradox, absence and presence its poles, love and hate its motive energies.
There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
It is a dead heart. It is inside of me. It is a stranger yet once it was agreeable, opening and closing like a clam.
Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.
Mostly, I think people are fake. Well, what do you expect? The fake world we live in conspires to make us all fakes.