William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 43 | Just Great DataBase

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,That breathes upon a bank of violets,Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,That, notwithstanding thy capacityReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,Of what validity and pitch soe'er,But falls into abatement and low price,Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancyThat it alone is high fantastical.

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IAGO: She that was ever fair and never proud,Had tongue at will and yet was never loud,Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay,Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,'She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly,She that in wisdom never was so frailTo change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind,See suitors following and not look behind,She was a wight, if ever such wight were,--DESDEMONA: To do what?IAGO: To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.

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But jealous souls will not be answered so.They are not ever jealous for the cause,But jealous for they’re jealous. It is a monsterBegot upon itself, born on itself.

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To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.

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Demand me nothing: what you know, you know.

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Oh, thou did'st then ne'er love so heartily.If thou rememb'rest not the slightest follyThat ever love did make thee run inot,Thou has not loved.Of if thou has't not sat as I do now,Wearying they hearer in thy mistress's praise,Thou has not loved.Of if thou hast not broke from companyAbruptly, as my passion now makes me,Thou has not loved. (Silvius)

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A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!

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Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever

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Don Pedro - (...)'In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.'Benedick - The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns and set them in my forehead, and let me be vildly painted; and in such great letters as they writes, 'Here is good horse for hire', let them signify under my sign, 'Here you may see Benedick the married man.

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Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you.

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Men from children nothing differ.

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Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world; now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the dayWould quake to look on.

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That he's mad, 'tis true,'tis true 'tis pity,And pity 'tis, 'tis true—a foolish figure,

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Thy best of rest is sleep,And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'stThy death, which is no more.

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I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.

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Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,And be it moon, or sun, or what you please.And if you please to call it a rush candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

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What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again,Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

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Lucentio: I read that I profess, the Art of Love.Bianca: And may you prove, sir, master of your art!Lucentio: While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart!

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Bad is the world, and all will come to naughtwhen such ill-dealing must be seen in thought.

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Now is the winter of our discontentMade glorious summer by this sun of York

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