William Shakespeare Quotes

The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious read more

The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on without
Good morrow to the sun.

O! beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on.

O! beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on.

The fire i' th' flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself and read more

The fire i' th' flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

But thou know'st this,
'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.

But thou know'st this,
'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.

(Olivia:) What's a drunken man like, fool?
(Clown:) Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One draught read more

(Olivia:) What's a drunken man like, fool?
(Clown:) Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One draught
above heat makes him a fool, the seconds mads him, and a third
drowns him.

O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there,
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it read more

O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there,
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage, and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!

I have shot mine arrow o'er the house
And hurt my brother.

I have shot mine arrow o'er the house
And hurt my brother.

You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that read more

You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would men!

I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years;
And should read more

I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years;
And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth,
That I should open to the list'ning air
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,
To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms
And make pretense of wrong that I have done him;
When all, for mine, if I may call offense,
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence;
Which love to all, of which thyself art one,
Who now reproved'st me for't--