William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 6 | Just Great DataBase

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

Women may fall when there's no strength in men.Act II

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him.

Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.

Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream

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?". - (Act III, scene I).

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.

For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

For she had eyes and chose me.

Me, poor man, my libraryWas dukedom large enough.

Words, words, words.

I must be cruel only to be kind;Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.

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. At first, the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,In fair round belly with good capon lined,With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slippered pantaloon,With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.