William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 57 | Just Great DataBase

Fare thee well/ A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.

Friar Laurence:O, mickle is the powerful grace that liesIn herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought to vile that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give; nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime's by action dignified.

How now?Even so quickly may one catch the plague?

If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;And all this day an unaccustom'd spiritLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.I dreamt my lady came and found me dead—Strange dream, that gives a dead man leaveto think!—And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,That I revived, and was an emperor.Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

Eyes, look your last; Arms, take your last embrace; and lips, O you,The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kissA dateless bargain to engrossing Death.

A peevish self-willed harlotry it is.*She’s a stubborn little brat.*

O shut the door! and when thou hast done so,Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

she shall scant show well that now shows best.

For you and I are past our dancing days

I have more care to staythan will to go.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell 
and count myself a king of infinite space, 
were it not that I have bad dreams.

Когато в най-черно дело дяволът ни тласка, той слага си най-ангелската маска.

As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound. There is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving.

Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?

Now my charms are all o'erthrown...

The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in. You rub the soreWhen you should bring the plaster.

What seest thou elseIn the dark backward and abysm of time?

And as the morning steals upon the night, melting the darkness, so their rising senses begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle their clearer reason.