William Shakespeare Quotes - Page 98 | Just Great DataBase

and, assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than report of valour.

the essence of Macbeth is seeing a great and intelligent man succumb to the forces of darkness. What gives the tragedy

Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.Put out the light, and then put out the light:If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,I can again thy former light restore,Should I repent me: but once put out thy light,Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,I know not where is that Promethean heatThat can thy light relume.

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as roses, whose fair flower, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

And be these juggling fiends no more believed, (20) That palter with us in a double sense, That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I’ll not fight with thee.

[Exeunt Iago and Attendants.] And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit, And look on death itself! Up,

No, my heart is turn'd to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand.

I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love   To spite a raven’s heart within a dove.

There’s nothing serious in mortality. All is but toys. Renown and grace is dead. The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.

We have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to be a sect or scion.

Viola: I pity youOlivia: That's a degree to love

And you all know, securityIs mortals' chiefest enemy.

O ill-starred wench! Pale as your smock!

What is decreed must be, and be this so.

betimes I will—to the weird sisters. (140) More shall they speak, for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way. I am in blood Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.

Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manur'd with industry, why, the power, and corrigible authority of this, lies in our wills.

for there is no Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness.

Our tears are not yet brewed.