William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 76 | Just Great DataBase

An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star!

I hold the world but as the world ... — / A stage where every man must play a part

The fiend gives the more friendly counsel.

I profess myself an enemy to all other joys, which the most precious square of sense possesses, and find I am alone felicitate in your dear highness love.

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring [making music] to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls,But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.

He hath always but slightly, known himself...King Lear

Her name is Portia

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.