William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 76 | Just Great DataBase

am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, The more you beat me, I will fawn on you: Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you. What worser place can I beg in your love, And yet a place of high respect with me,— Than to be usèd as you use your dog?

I must to the barber's, mounsieur; for methinks I am     marvellous hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if     my hair do but tickle me I must scratch.

Who will not change a raven for a dove?

pero el amor puede transformar en belleza y dignidad lo que es grosero, deforme y vulgar. El amor ve con la mente, no con la vista.

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.

TITANIA My Oberon! what visions have I seen! Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.

Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hourDraws on apace; four happy days bring inAnother moon: but, O, methinks, how slowThis old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,Like to a step-dame or a dowagerLong withering out a young man revenue.

I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there is no man can tell what. Methought I was,--and methought I had,--but man is but a patched fool, ifhe will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom...

How Low am I, thou painted Maypole? Speak:How Low am I? I am not yet so LowBut that my Nails can reach unto thine Eyes

It is immensely rewarding to work carefully with Shakespeare’s language so that the words, the sentences, the wordplay, and the implied stage action all become clear—as readers for the past four centuries have discovered. It may be more pleasurable to attend a good performance of a play—though not everyone has thought so. But the joy of being able to stage one of Shakespeare’s plays in one’s imagination, to return to passages that continue to yield further meanings (or further questions) the more one reads them—these are pleasures that, for many, rival (or at least augment) those of the performed text, and certainly make it worth considerable effort to break the code of Elizabethan poetic drama and let free the remarkable language that makes up a Shakespeare text.

HIPPOLYTABut all the story of the night told over,And all their minds transfigured so together,More witnesseth than fancy’s imagesAnd grows to something of great constancy,But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

My dear dear lord,The purest treasure mortal times affordIs spotless reputation: that away,Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chestIs a bold spirit in a loyal breast.Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:Take honour from me, and my life is done:Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;In that I live and for that will I die.

The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard: The fold stands empty in the drownèd field, And crows are fatted with the murrion flock; The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud; And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, For lack of tread, are undistinguishable: The human mortals want their winter here; No night is now with hymn or carol blest:— Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound: And thorough this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; And on old Hyem's thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the maz'd world, By their increase, now knows not which is which: And this same progeny of evils comes

But by bad courses may be understood that their events can never fall out good.

Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could well beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

On this side my hand, and on that side yours.Now is this golden crown like a deep wellThat owes two buckets, filling one another,The emptier ever dancing in the air,The other down, unseen and full of water: That bucket down and full of tears am I,Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

I l'esperança d'una joia és gairebé una joiacomparable a la joia de l'esperança atesa.

All places that the eye of heaven visits are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; there is no virtue like necessity.

Each substance of grief hath twenty shadows, which shows like grief itself, but is not so; or sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, divides one thing entire to many objects: like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon, show nothing but confusion: