William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 78 | Just Great DataBase

Something wicked this way comes.

Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now (70) I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime

...upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, till famine cling thee.

Ela teria de morrer, mais cedo ou mais tarde. Morta. Mais tarde haveria um tempo para essa palavra. Amanhã, e amanhã, e ainda outro amanhã arrastam-se nessa passada trivial do dia para a noite, da noite para o dia, até a última sílaba do registro dos tempos. E todos os nossos ontens não fizeram mais que iluminar para os tolos o caminho que leva ao pó da morte. Apaga-te, apaga-te, chama breve! A vida não passa de uma sombra que caminha, um pobre ator que se pavoneia e se aflige sobre o palco - faz isso por uma hora e, depois, não se escuta mais sua voz. É uma história contada por um idiota, cheia de som e fúria e vazia de significado.

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

The grief that does not speak 246 Whispers the o’erfraught heart and bids it break.

Stealing and giving odor. Enough, no more. 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

كانت ستموت في الغد لو لم تمت اليوموكان الوقت سيأتي لمثل هذا الخبرهكذا يزحف الغد،ثم الغد،ثم الغدبهذا الخطو الؤيد الحقير من يوم إلى يومحتى المقطع الأخير من سجل الزمنوكان أمس مضى لنا أنار السبيللبني الإنسان الحمقى إلى تراب الموتانطفئي.انطفئي أيتها الشمعة الوجيزة الأجلفما الحياة إلا خيال يسير،ممثل مسكينيقضي ساعته على المسرح بين الاختيال والاهتياجثم يصمت إلى الأبد.إنها حكاية يرويها ابله مليئة بالصخب والغضب،ولكنمالها معنى

CLOWN. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.

The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures. Lady Macbeth

                            I do remember.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow, creeps on this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.

I am sure care's an enemy to life.

But ‘tis strange;      And oftentimes to win us to our harm,      The instruments of darkness tell us truths,

But when in other habits you are seen –   Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen!

Whence is that knocking?How is't with me when every noise appals me?What hands are here! Ha - they pluck out mine eyes!Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood        Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will ratherThe multitudinous seas incarnadine,Making the green one red.

Yet, a barful strife! Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.

Wisdom! To leave his wife, to leave his babes,His mansion and his titles, in a placeFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not.He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,The most diminutive of birds, will fight,            Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.All is the fear and nothing is the love,As little is the wisdom, where the flightSo runs against all reason

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! It had a dying fall. O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour. Enough, no more!

الغلو بالثقة هو العدو الأكبر لبنى البشر.