William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 8 | Just Great DataBase

My only love sprung from my only hate.

O, wonder!How many goodly creatures are there here!How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,That has such people in't!

So full of artless jealousy is guilt,It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Beware the ides of March.

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

I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Sit by my side, and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger.

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.Sometimes a thousand twangling instrumentsWill hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,That, if I then had waked after long sleep,Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,The clouds methought would open, and show richesReady to drop upon me; that, when I waked,I cried to dream again.

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.What is it else? A madness most discreet,A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.*Here’s what love is: a smoke made out of lovers' sighs. When the smoke clears, love is a fire burning in your lover’s eyes. If you frustrate love, you get an ocean made out of lovers' tears. What else is love? It’s a wise form of madness. It’s a sweet lozenge that you choke on.*

All the world's a stage.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings;The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:For never was a story of more woeThan this of Juliet and her Romeo.

I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is soordinary that the whippers are in love too.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

And thus I clothe my naked villainyWith odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ;And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

Why, what's the matter,That you have such a February face,So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?