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.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.
Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
We cannot conceive of matter being formed of nothing, since things require a seed to start from... Therefore there is not anything which returns to nothing, but all things return dissolved into their elements.
When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.
Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes; fathers that children with their judgment looked; and either may be wrong.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.
If we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor.
If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.
The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.
The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
There have been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.
O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.
He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath any honesty in him.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.
//William Shakespeare Quotes//
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