William Shakespeare Quotes

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
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Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
Whose weakness married to thy stronger state
Makes with me thy strength to communicate.
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;
Who all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.

Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.

Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.

Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
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Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.

This tyrant, whole sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest; you have loved him well;
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This tyrant, whole sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest; you have loved him well;
He hath not touched you yet.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

There 's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good read more

There 's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with 't. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. read more

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
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But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her--why she, O, she is fall'n
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!

An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye: Give him read more

An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye: Give him a little earth for charity! -King Henry VIII. Act iv. Sc. 2.