William Shakespeare Quotes

A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.

A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.

Let me take you a button-hole lower. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

Let me take you a button-hole lower. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 2.

I see my reputation is at stake;
My fame is shrewdly gored.

I see my reputation is at stake;
My fame is shrewdly gored.

I go, I go, look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.

I go, I go, look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.

Here, here, and everywhere, he leaves and takes,
Dexterity so obeying appetite
That what he will he read more

Here, here, and everywhere, he leaves and takes,
Dexterity so obeying appetite
That what he will he does, and does so much
That proof is called impossibility.

To be or not to be that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the read more

To be or not to be that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or take up arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing them, end them. Hamlet

Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a
goose-pen, no matter.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a
goose-pen, no matter.

Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
One pain is less'ned by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, read more

Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
One pain is less'ned by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish.

Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit read more

Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest. Evils that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all read more

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.