William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 83 | Just Great DataBase

LEONTES ~ A gross hagAnd, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue.ANTIGONUS ~ Hang all the husbandsThat cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject.

FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold thy desperate hand:Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denoteThe unreasonable fury of a beast:Unseemly woman in a seeming man!Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,I thought thy disposition better temper’d.Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,By doing damned hate upon thyself?Why rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meetIn thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;Which, like a usurer, abound’st in all,And usest none in that true use indeedWhich should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,Digressing from the valour of a man;Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,Misshapen in the conduct of them both,Like powder in a skitless soldier’s flask,Is set afire by thine own ignorance,And thou dismember’d with thine own defence.What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,But thou slew’st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friendAnd turns it to exile; there art thou happy:A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;Happiness courts thee in her best array;But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,Thou pout’st upon thy fortune and thy love:Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:But look thou stay not till the watch be set,For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;Where thou shalt live, till we can find a timeTo blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee backWith twenty hundred thousand times more joyThan thou went’st forth in lamentation.Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;And bid her hasten all the house to bed,Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:Romeo is coming.

I might call him. A thing divine, for nothing natural. I ever saw so noble.

Here come those I have done good to against my will,

CAPULET: ...Well, we were born to die.

Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick,Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my furyDo I take part.

Age, thou hast lost thy labor.

By love that first did prompt me to inquire;He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.I am no pilot, yet wert thou as farAs that vast shore washed with the farthest sea,I should adventure for such merchandise.

I would not wish any companion in the world but you

Sometime [Queen Mab] driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,Of healths five fathom deep; and then anonDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or twoAnd sleeps again

El infierno está vacío, y todos los diablos están aquí.

¡Oh, Romeo, Romeo! ¿Por qué eres Romeo? Renuncia a tu padre, abjura tu nombre; o, si no quieres esto, jura solamente amarme y ceso de ser una Capuleto.

Caliban: As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.

I will beat thee into handsomeness

sonnets

who bore him three children

Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense tou whilt.

for naught so vile on the Earth doth live, but to the Earth some special good doth give

She refuses to be hit with Cupid's arrow. Shielded by the armor of chastity, she can't be charmed by words of love. She won't be assaulted by loving eyes, and she won't accept gifts of gold.

Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz.