William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 56 | Just Great DataBase

I'm sick in the heart.

And as imagination bodies forthThe forms of things unknown, the poet’s penTurns them to shapes and gives to airy nothingA local habitation and a name

Oh, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence.Love takes the meaning in love’s conference. I mean that my heart unto yours is knitSo that but one heart we can make of it.

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere wellIt were done quickly: if the assassinationCould trammel up the consequence, and catchWith his surcease success; that but this blowMight be the be-all and the end-all here,But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,We'ld jump the life to come. But in these casesWe still have judgment here; that we but teachBloody instructions, which, being taught, returnTo plague the inventor: this even-handed justiceCommends the ingredients of our poison'd chaliceTo our own lips. He's here in double trust;First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,Who should against his murderer shut the door,Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this DuncanHath borne his faculties so meek, hath beenSo clear in his great office, that his virtuesWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, againstThe deep damnation of his taking-off;And pity, like a naked new-born babe,Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsedUpon the sightless couriers of the air,Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spurTo prick the sides of my intent, but onlyVaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itselfAnd falls on the other.

There's nothing serious in mortality;All is but toys; renown, and grace, is dead;The wine of life is drawn, and the mere leesIs left this vault to brag of.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor playerThat struts and frets his hour upon the stageAnd then is heard no more. It is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and furySignifying nothing.

Non v'è arte buona a leggere nel volto i disegni della mente.

His silver skin laced with his golden blood.

Come what come may,Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

That will be ere the set of sun.

When the hurlyburly's done,When the battle's lost and won.

I dare do all that may become a man who dares do more is none

O that I were a mockery king of snowStanding before the sun of BolingbrokeTo melt myself away in water drops!

Nothing that is so, is so.

Fate, show thy force; ourselves we do not owe;what is decreed must be, and be this so.

to early seen unknown...and known to late

Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.

She is rich in beauty.

Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.

Enough no more; Tis not so sweet now as it was before.