Quotes

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.

The beds i' th' East are soft.

I think he'll be to Rome As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature.

If her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star.

There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

He that depends Upon your favors swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes.

Well said—that was laid on with a trowel.

When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model, And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection, Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at least desist To build at all?

Out, out, brief candle. Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Alas, poor women, make us but believe (Being compact of credit) that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve: We in your motion turn, and you may move us.