William Shakespeare Quotes
''A hit, a very palpable hit.''William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Osric, in Hamlet, act 5, sc. 2, l. 232 (1604). Judging that Hamlet has struck Laertes, his opponent in a duel.
''And oftentimes excusing of a faultWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Pembroke, in King John, act 4, sc. 2.
Doth make the fault the worser by th' excuse.''
''Am I your selfWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Portia, in Julius Caesar, act 2, sc. 1, l. 282-5. To her husband, Brutus; "in sort" means up to a point.
But as it were in sort or limitation,
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
And talk to you sometimes?''
''O that estates, degrees, and officesWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Prince of Arragon, in The Merchant of Venice, act 2, sc. 9, l. 41-3. The aristocrat wishes status and rank were always the reward of merit, and could not be obtained by corrupt means.
Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honor
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!''
''Since I cannot prove a loverWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Richard, in Richard III, act 1, sc. 1, l. 28-31. Announcing his intentions in his opening soliloquy.
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determinèd to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.''
''Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humor, andWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Rosalind, in As You Like It, act 4, sc. 1, l. 68-9. Pretending to be able to cure Orlando of his love-sickness.
like enough to consent.''
''If ever (as that ever may be near)William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Silvius, in As You Like It, act 3, sc. 5, l. 28-31. On the power of love to hurt; the image of Cupid shooting love's darts at random underlies these lines.
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.''
''The quality of mercy is not strain'd,William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British poet. The Merchant of Venice (IV, i). . . The Unabridged William Shakespeare, William George Clark and William Aldis Wright, eds. (1989) Running Press.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself,
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.''
''In respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; butWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Touchstone, in As You Like It, act 3, sc. 2, l. 17-9. On life in the forest of Arden as contrasted with life at court.
in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.''
''Wherefore do you so ill translate yourselfWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Westmoreland, in Henry IV, Part 2, act 4, sc. 1, l. 47-9. On an archbishop transforming (translating) himself into a soldier, and changing his speech.
Out of the speech of peace that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war?''
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Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? (Sonnet 18)
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or ...
What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case