~ William Shakespeare Quotes ~

[MysteRy]

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 wished.

[MysteRy]

This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab Ingratitude more strong than traitor's arm Quite vanquish'd him; then burst his mighty heart.

[MysteRy]

Sleep that knits up the ravell'd slave of care The death of each day's life sore labour's bath Balm of hurt minds great nature's second course Chief nourisher in life's feast.

[MysteRy]

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.

[MysteRy]

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care The death of each day's life sore labour's bath Balm of hurt minds great nature's second course Chief nourisher in life's feast.

[MysteRy]

No 'tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough 'twill serve: ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered I warrant for this world.

[MysteRy]

O gentle Romeo If thou dost love pronounce it faithfully. Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay So thou wilt woo: but else not for the world.

[MysteRy]

Eye of newt and toe of frog Wool of bat and tongue of dog Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting Lizard's leg and owlet's wing For a charm of powerful trouble Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

[MysteRy]

If music be the food of love play on; Give me excess of it that surfeiting The appetite may sicken and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound.

[MysteRy]

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?

[MysteRy]

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.

[MysteRy]

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.

[MysteRy]

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet A choking gall and a preserving sweet.

[MysteRy]

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.

[MysteRy]

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.