William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 79 | Just Great DataBase

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.

A good lenten answer! I can tell thee where that saying was born, of ‘I fear no colours.

Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dareTo Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth,In Riddles, and Affaires of death;And I the Mistris of your Charmes,The close contriuer of all harmes,Was neuer call'd to beare my part,Or shew the glory of our Art?

I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Fillet of a Fenny Snake,In the Cauldron boyle and bake:Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frogge,Wooll of Bat, and Tongue of Dogge:Adders Forke, and Blinde-wormes Sting,Lizards legge, and Howlets wing:For a Charme of powrefull trouble,Like a Hell-broth, boyle and bubble

For folly that he wisely shows is fit;But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.

The Prince of Cumberland! That is a stepOn which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,           For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires,Let not light see my black and deep desires.The eye wink at the hand; yet let that beWhich the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal. I saw him put down the other day with an 80   ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools’ zanies.

I dare do all that may become a man;Who dares do more is none.

The devil a puritan that he is, or anything, constantly, but a time-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and utters it by great swathes; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him – and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

To bed, to bed! There’s a knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed!

Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in thisworld needs to fear no colours.

The primary characteristics of the Shakespearean soul present themselves in Macbeth: the soul has free will, reason, conscience, and corporeality. The effect of these beliefs is holistic: they work together, whether a character be virtuous or sinful. More, no character stands alone morally, because Shakespeare assumes, theologically, that the bonds of family and society are sacred. With respect to the individual, however, there is one overarching principle at work. The fall of an individual’s soul—the loss of his freedom, the ruin of his reason, the confusion of his conscience, the seduction of his flesh by lies and imagination—is a negation of his soul.

Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me, now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass. So that by my foes, sir I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends, I am abused. So

Não podeis ministrar algum remédioA um espírito enfermo, e da memóriaArrancar-lhe uma dor enraizada, Apagar-lhe os escrúpulos gravados Na alma? Não conheceis algum nepenteCapaz de lhe extirpar a um peito inquieto A matéria que pesa insuportável No coração?

As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war.

Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep—the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, (40) Chief nourisher in life’s feast.