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Had I No Eyes But Ears, My Ears Would Love. That Inward Beauty And Invisible; Or Were I Deaf, Thy Outward Parts Would Move Each Part In Me That Were But Sensible: Though Neither Eyes Nor Ears, To Hear Nor See, Yet Should I Be In Love By Touching Thee. 'say, That The Sense Of Feeling Were Bereft Me, And That I Could Not See, Nor Hear, Nor Touch, And Nothing But The Very Smell Were Left Me, Yet Would My Love To Thee Be Still As Much; For From The Stillitory Of Thy Face Excelling Comes Breath Perfum'd That Breedeth Love By Smelling.

-William Shakespeare

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Had I No Eyes

William Shakespeare

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Had I No Eyes But Ears, My Ears Would Love. That Inward Beauty And Invisible; Or Were I Deaf, Thy Outward Parts Would Move Each Part In Me That Were But Sensible: Though Neither Eyes Nor Ears, To Hear Nor See, Yet Should I Be In Love By Touching Thee. 'say, That The Sense Of Feeling Were Bereft Me, And That I Could Not See, Nor Hear, Nor Touch, And Nothing But The Very Smell Were Left Me, Yet Would My Love To Thee Be Still As Much; For From The Stillitory Of Thy Face Excelling Comes Breath Perfum'd That Breedeth Love By Smelling.

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So May I, Blind Fortune Leading Me, Miss That Which One Unworthier May Attain, And Die With Grieving.

Patience Is Sottish, And Impatience Does Become A Dog That's Mad.

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.

But Whate'er I Am, Nor I Nor Any Man That But Man Is, With Nothing Shall Be Pleased 'til He Be Eased With Being Nothing.

Remuneration! O! That's The Latin Word For Three Farthings

Nothing Emboldens Sin So Much As Mercy.

Conscience Is A Blushing, Shamefaced Spirit Than Mutinies In A Man's Bosom; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles.

This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker, This Huge Hill Of Flesh!

My Age Is As A Lusty Winter, Frosty But Kindly.

A Sympathy In Choice.

Our Praises Are Our Wages.

Piece Out Our Imperfections With Your Thoughts.

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment, And Then Have We A Prescription To Die When Death Is Our Physician.

Now The Good Gods Forbid That Our Renowned Rome, Whose Gratitude Towards Her Deserved Children Is Enrolled In Jove's Own Book, Like An Unnatural Dam Should Now Eat Up Her Own!

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.

Time Is Like A Fashionable Host That Slightly Shakes His Parting Guest By The Hand, And With His Arm Outstretch'd, As He Would Fly, Grasps In The Comer.

That England, That Was Wont To Conquer Others, Hath Made A Shameful Conquest Of Itself.

And Since You Know You Cannot See Yourself, So Well As By Reflection, I, Your Glass, Will Modestly Discover To Yourself, That Of Yourself Which You Yet Know Not Of.

I Am Sure, Though You Can Guess What Temperance Should Be, You Know Not What It Is.

Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else.

Fruits That Blossom First Will First Be Ripe.

To Be Generous, Guiltless, And Of A Free Disposition Is To Take Those Things For Bird-bolts That You Deem Cannon-bullets.

How Is It That The Clouds Still Hang On You?

Hamlet And Ophelia

She Is Mine Own, And I As Rich In Having Such A Jewel As Twenty Seas, If All Their Sand Were Pearl, The Water Nectar, And The Rocks Pure Gold.

For This Relief, Much Thanks

What Early Tongue So Sweet Saluteth Me? Young Son, It Argues A Distemper'd Head So Soon To Bid Good Morrow To Thy Bed: Care Keeps His Watch In Every Old Man's Eye, And Where Care Lodges, Sleep Will Never Lie; But Where Unbruised Youth With Unstuff'd Brain Doth Couch His Limbs, There Golden Sleep Doth Reign.

A Grandma's Name Is Little Less In Love Than Is The Doting Title Of A Mother.

Love Is Heavy And Light, Bright And Dark, Hot And Cold, Sick And Healthy, Asleep And Awake- Its Everything Except What It Is! (act 1, Scene 1)

April ... Hath Put A Spirit Of Youth In Everything.

Foul Words Is But Foul Wind, And Foul Wind Is But Foul Breath, And Foul Breath Is Noisome; Therefore I Will Depart Unkissed.

Give To A Gracious Message An Host Of Tongues, But Let Ill Tidings Tell Themselves When They Be Felt.

Bloody Instructions, Which, Being Taught, Return To Plague The Inventor.

Important Macbeth

All Difficulties Are Easy When They Are Known.

The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Can Afford Is A Spotless Reputation.

The Arms Are Fair, When The Intent Of Bearing Them Is Just.

O For A Horse With Wings!

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

Assume A Virtue, If You Have It Not. That Monster, Custom, Who All Sense Doth Eat; Of Habits Devil, Is Angel Yet In This.

The Spirit Of A Youth That Means To Be Of Note, Begins Betimes.

As True As Steel, As Plantage To The Moon, As Sun To Day, At Turtle To Her Mate, As Iron To Adamant, As Earth To Centre.

I Wish You Well And So I Take My Leave, I Pray You Know Me When We Meet Again.

O Gentlemen, The Time Of Life Is Short! To Spend That Shortness Basely Were Too Long, If Life Did Ride Upon A Dial's Point, Still Ending At The Arrival Of An Hour.

If You Prick Us Do We Not Bleed? If You Tickle Us Do We Not Laugh? If You Poison Us Do We Not Die? And If You Wrong Us Shall We Not Revenge?

In Sooth I Know Not Why I Am So Sad. It Wearies Me, You Say It Wearies You; But How I Caught It, Found It, Or Came By It, What Stuff 'tis Made Of, Whereof It Is Born, I Am To Learn.

Tis Better Using France Than Trusting France; Let Us Be Back'd With God, And With The Seas, Which He Hath Given For Fence Impregnable, And With Their Helps Only Defend Ourselves; In Them, And In Ourselves, Our Safety Lies.

The Time Of Life Is Short; To Spend That Shortness Basely Were Too Long.

Shortness Of Life

Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!

O That Men's Ears Should Be To Counsel Deaf But Not To Flattery!

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness.

Murder Most Foul, As In The Best It It; But This Most Foul, Strange, And Unnatural.

Hamlet And Ophelia

Sweet Mercy Is Nobility's True Badge.

What Man Dare, I Dare. Approach Thou Like The Rugged Russian Bear, The Armed Rhinoceros, Or Th' Hyrcan Tiger; Take Any Shape But That, And My Firm Nerves Shall Never Tremble.

The Devil Can Cite Scripture For His Purpose. An Evil Soul Producing Holy Witness Is Like A Villain With A Smiling Cheek, A Goodly Apple Rotten At The Heart. O, What A Goodly Outside Falsehood Hath!

[marriage Is] A World-without-end Bargain.

And By That Destiny To Perform An Act Whereof What's Past Is Prologue, What To Come In Yours And My Discharge.

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together.

What's Done Is Done. The Joy Is In The Doing.

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.

Is This Government Of Britain's Isle, And This The Royalty Of Albion's King?

You Had Measured How Long A Fool You Were Upon The Ground.

The Quality Of Nothing Hath Not Such Need To Hide Itself

Dissembling Courtesy! How Fine This Tyrant Can Trickle When She Wounds!

By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something Wicked This Way Comes.

The More Pity, That Fools May Not Speak Wisely What Wise Men Do Foolishly.

Funny Inspirational

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In Winter's Tedious Nights Sit By The Fire With Good Old Folks, And Let Them Tell Thee Tales Of Woeful Ages, Long Ago Betid

There Is No Sure Foundation Set On Blood, No Certain Life Achieved By Others' Death.

Haste Is Needful In A Desperate Case.

Though Yet Of Hamlet Our Dear Brother's Death The Memory Be Green.

The Poorest Service Is Repaid With Thanks.

Taming Of The Shrew

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Think'st Thou I'd Make A Life Of Jealousy, To Follow Still The Changes Of The Moon With Fresh Suspicions? No; To Be Once In Doubt Is Once To Be Resolved.

Exceeds Man's Might: That Dwells With The Gods Above.

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love.

But I Remember Now I Am In This Earthly World, Where To Do Harm Is Often Laudable, To Do Good Sometime Accounted Dangerous Folly.

I Am Not Of That Feather, To Shake Off My Friend When He Must Need Me

In Thee Thy Mother Dies, Our Household's Name, My Death's Revenge, Thy Youth, And England's Fame.

Light Seeking Light Doth Light Of Light Beguile: So, Ere You Find Where Light In Darkness Lies, Your Light Grows Dark By Losing Of Your Eyes.

My Prophecy Is But Half His Journey Yet, For Yonder Walls, That Pertly Front Your Town, Yon Towers, Whose Wanton Tops Do Buss The Clouds, Must Kiss Their Own Feet.

O Sir, You Are Old; Nature In You Stands On The Very Verge Of Her Confine; You Should Be Ruled And Led By Some Discretion, That Discerns Your Fate Better Than You Yourself.

This Royal Throne Of Kings, This Scepter'd Isle, This Earth Of Majesty, This Seat Of Mars, This Other Eden, Demi-paradise.

Precious Stones

Paradise On Earth

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Ere I Could Make Thee Open Thy White Hand, And Clap Thyself My Love; Then Didst Thou Utter, I Am Your's For Ever!

Had I But Served My God With Half The Zeal I Served My King, He Would Not In Mine Age Have Left Me Naked To Mine Enemies.

I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know Not--lost All My Mirth, Forgone All Custom Of Exercise.

Let Me Say Amen Betimes Lest The Devil Cross My Prayer, For Here He Comes In The Likeness Of A Jew.

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A Friend Should Bear His Friend's Infirmities.

These Signs Have Marked Me Extraordinary, And All The Courses Of My Life Do Show I Am Not In The Roll Of Common Men.

A College Of Wit-crackers Cannot Flout Me Out Of My Humor. Dost Thou Think I Care For A Satire Or An Epigram?

O, Train Me Not, Sweet Mermaid, With Thy Note, To Drown Me In Thy Sister’s Flood Of Tears.

Fortune Is Merry, And In This Mood Will Give Us Anything.

Macduff: What Three Things Does Drink Especially Provoke? Porter: Marry, Sir, Nose-painting, Sleep, And Urine.

Make Use Of Time, Let Not Advantage Slip; Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted: Fair Flowers That Are Not Gather'd In Their Prime Rot And Consume Themselves In Little Time.

By How Much Unexpected, By So Much We Must Awake Endeavour For Defence; For Courage Mounteth With Occasion.

Pain Pays The Income Of Each Precious Thing.

O, That This Too Too Solid Flesh Would Melt Thaw And Resolve Itself Into A Dew! Or That The Everlasting Had Not Fix'd His Canon 'gainst Self-slaughter! O God! God! How Weary, Stale, Flat And Unprofitable, (135) Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World! Fie On't! Ah Fie! 'tis An Unweeded Garden, That Grows To Seed; Things Rank And Gross In Nature Possess It Merely. That It Should Come To This! But Two Months Dead: Nay, Not So Much, Not Two: (140) So Excellent A King; That Was, To This.

Obey Thy Parents, Keep Thy Word Justly; Swear Not; Commit Not With Man's Sworn Spouse; Set Not Thy Sweet Heart On Proud Array. * * * Keep Thy Foot Out Of Brothels, Thy Pen From Lenders' Books.

Was Ever Woman In This Humour Wooed? Was Ever Woman In This Humour Won?

For Brutus, As You Know, Was Caesar's Angel: Judge, O You Gods, How Dearly Caesar Loved Him! This Was The Most Unkindest Cut Of All

My Father Names Me Autolycus, Who Being, As I Am, Littered Under Mercury, Was Likewise A Snapper-up Of Unconsidered Trifles.

Instead Of Weeping When A Tragedy Occurs In A Songbird's Life, It Sings Away Its Grief. I Believe We Could Well Follow The Pattern Of Our Feathered Friends.

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

Thus Sometimes Hath The Brightest Day A Cloud; And After Summer Evermore Succeeds Barren Winter, With His Wrathful Nipping Cold: So Cares And Joys Abound, As Seasons Fleet.

Time Is A Very Bankrupt And Owes More Than He's Worth To Season. Nay, He's A Thief Too: Have You Not Heard Men Say, That Time Comes Stealing On By Night And Day?

Through Tattered Clothes Great Vices Do Appear; Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All. Plate Sin With Gold And The Strong Lance Of Justice Hurtless Breaks. Arm It In Rags, A Pigmy's Straw Does Pierce It.

Things Sweet To Taste Prove In Digestion Sour.

Travelers Must Be Content.

Plain And Not Honest Is Too Harsh A Style.

Plutus Himself, That Knows The Tinct And Multiplying Med'cine, Hath Not In Nature's Mystery More Science Than I Have In This Ring.

There Is Flattery In Friendship.

Delay Leads Impotent And Snail-paced Beggary.

Procrastination

A Table Full Of Welcome Makes Scarce One Dainty Dish.

And Keep You In The Rear Of Your Affection, Out Of The Shot And Danger Of Desire, The Chariest Maid Is Prodigal Enough If She Unmasks Her Beauty To The Moon.

Affection Faints Not Like A Pale-faced Coward, But Then Woos Best When Most His Choice Is Froward.

Virtue's Office Never Breaks Men's Troth.

Love's Best Habit Is A Soothing Tongue

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

Every Why Has A Wherefore.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

Vanity And Pride

Be Still Prepared For Death: And Death Or Life Shall Thereby Be The Sweeter.

My Father Compounded With My Mother Under The Dragon's Tail, And My Nativity Was Under Ursa Major, So That It Follows, I Am Roughand Lecherous. Tut, I Should Have Been That I Am, Had The Maidenliest Star In The Firmament Twinkled On My Bastardizing.

Good Wine Needs No Bush.

Crabbed Age And Youth Cannot Live Together: Youth Is Full Of Pleasance, Age Is Full Of Care.

O, Then, What Graces In My Love Do Dwell, That He Hath Turn'd A Heaven Unto Hell

Reputation Is An Idle And Most False Imposition; Oft Got Without Merit, And Lost Without Deserving.

Sit By My Side, And Let The World Slip: We Shall Ne'er Be Younger.

Drink, Sir, Is A Great Provoker Of Three Things . . . Nose-painting, Sleep, And Urine. Lechery, Sir, It Provokes, And Unprovokes; It Provokes The Desire, But It Takes Away The Performance.

But Say, My Lord, It Were Not Regist'red, Methinks The Truth Should Live From Age To Age, As 'twere Retailed To All Posterity, Even To The General All-ending Day.

Blessed Are The Peacemakers On Earth.

Every Subject's Duty Is The Kings, But Every Subject's Soul Is His Own.

In The Modesty Of Fearful Duty, I Read As Much As From The Rattling Tongue Of Saucy And Audacious Eloquence.

See How She Leans Her Cheek Upon Her Hand. O, That I Were A Glove Upon That Hand That I Might Touch That Cheek!

A Good Leg Will Fall; A Straight Back Will Stoop; A Black Beard Will Turn White; A Curl'd Pate Will Grow Bald; A Fair Face Will Wither; A Full Eye Will Wax Hollow: But A Good Heart, Kate, Is The Sun And The Moon; Or, Rather, The Sun, And Not The Moon, — For It Shines Bright, And Never Changes, But Keeps His Course Truly.

When Faced With A Sea Of Troubles, Take Action, And In So Doing End It.

Simply The Thing That I Am Shall Make Me Live.

'tis Not Enough To Help The Feeble Up, But To Support Them After.

Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From The World-wearied Flesh

Say She Rail; Why, I'll Tell Her Plain She Sings As Sweetly As A Nightingale. Say That She Frown; I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Wash'd With Dew. Say She Be Mute And Will Not Speak A Word; Then I'll Commend Her Volubility, And Say She Uttereth Piercing Eloquence.

Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths; The Valiant Never Taste Of Death But Once.

Brutus, I Do Observe You Now Of Late: I Have Not From Your Eyes That Gentleness And Show Of Love As I Was Wont To Have: You Bear Too Stubborn And Too Strange A Hand Over Your Friend That Loves You. Poor Brutus, With Himself At War, Forgets The Shows Of Love To Other Men.

War Is No Strife To The Dark House And The Detested Wife.

Withal I Did Infer Your Lineaments, Being The Right Idea Of Your Father, Both In Your Form And Nobleness Of Mind; Laid Open All Your Victories In Scotland, Your Discipline In War, Wisdom In Peace, Your Bounty, Virtue, Fair Humility; Indeed, Left Nothing Fitting For Your Purpose Untouch'd Or Slightly Handled In Discourse.

Hear My Soul Speak. Of The Very Instant That I Saw You, Did My Heart Fly At Your Service

Here Was A Caesar! When Comes Such Another?

Farewell! A Long Farewell To All My Greatness!

Though This Be Madness, Yet There Is Method In't.

The Hind That Would Be Mated By The Lion Must Die For Love.

Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.

Dream In Light Years, Challenge Miles, Walk Step By Step

Look How The World's Poor People Are Amazed At Apparitions, Signs And Prodigies!

Lords, I Protest My Soul Is Full Of Woe That Blood Should Sprinkle Me To Make Me Grow. Come, Mourn With Me For What I Do Lament, And Put Sullen Black Incontinent. I'll Make A Voyage To The Holy Land To Wash This Blood Off From My Guilty Hand. March Sadly After. Grace My Mournings Here In Weeping After This Untimely Bier.

Bassanio: Do All Men Kill All The Things They Do Not Love? Shylock: Hates Any Man The Thing He Would Not Kill? Bassanio: Every Offence Is Not A Hate At First.

But I, That Am Not Shaped For Sportive Tricks, Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-glass; I, That Am Rudely Stamped, And Want Love's Majesty To Strut Before A Wanton Ambling Nymph.

When You Do Dance, I Wish You A Wave O' The Sea, That You Might Ever Do Nothing But That.

Your Bait Of Falsehood Takes This Carp Of Truth.

A Rotten Case Abides No Handling.

We That Are True Lovers Run Into Strange Capers.

The Lily I Condemned For Thy Hand, And Buds Of Marjoram Had Stol'n Thy Hair: The Roses Fearfully On Thorns Did Stand, One Blushing Shame, Another White Despair; A Third, Nor Red Nor White, Had Stol'n Of Both And To His Robbery Had Annex'd Thy Breath; But, For His Theft, In Pride Of All His Growth A Vengeful Canker Eat Him Up To Death. More Flowers I Noted, Yet I None Could See But Sweet Or Colour It Had Stol'n From Thee.

I Thank You All And Here Dismiss You All, And To The Love And Favor Of My Country Commit Myself, My Person, And The Cause.

Enough No More; Tis Not So Sweet Now As It Was Before.

Twelfth Night Important

Of All Complexions The Culled Sovereignty Do Meet, As At A Fair, In Her Fair Cheek, Where Several Worthies Make One Dignity, Where Nothing Wants That Want Itself Doth Seek.

[thine] Face Is Not Worth Sunburning.

Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe.

My Affection Hath An Unknown Bottom, Like The Bay Of Portugal.

The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air

Talking Isn't Doing. It Is A Kind Of Good Deed To Say Well; And Yet Words Are Not Deeds.

Deeds And Words

It Is That Fery Person For All The Orld, As Just As You Will Desire; And Seven Hundred Pounds Of Moneys, And Gold, And Silver, Is Her Grandsire Upon His Death's-bed-got Deliver To A Joyful Resurrections!

Patch Up Thine Old Body For Heaven.

We Few. We Happy Few. We Band Of Brothers, For He Today That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother.

What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak 'em Fair?

Ay Me! Sad Hours Seem Long.

The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks.

A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Fool's Ear.

Time's The King Of Men; He's Both Their Parent, And He Is Their Grave, And Gives Them What He Will, Not What They Crave.

O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep! Nature's Soft Nurse.

His Neigh Is Like The Bidding Of A Monarch, And His Countenance Enforces Homage. He Is Indeed A Horse.

Presume Not That I Am The Thing I Was.

I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark.

Let The End Try The Man.

And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None: Be Able For Thine Enemy Rather In Power Than Use; And Keep Thy Friend Under Thy Own Life's Key: Be Check'd For Silence, But Never Tax'd For Speech.

Tomorrow, And Tomorrow, And Tomorrow,creeps In This Petty Pace From Day To Day

Futility Of Life

She Is Your Treasure, She Must Have A Husband; I Must Dance Bare-foot On Her Wedding Day, And, For Your Love To Her, Lead Apes In Hell.

Thou Art Thy Mother's Glass, And She In Thee Calls Back The Lovely April Of Her Prime...

O Fortune, Fortune! All Men Call Thee Fickle.

Lay Her I' The Earth: And From Her Fair And Unpolluted Flesh May Violets Spring! I Tell Thee, Churlish Priest, A Ministering Angel Shall My Sister Be, When Thou Liest Howling. Hamlet. What, The Fair Ophelia! Queen Gertrude. Sweets To The Sweet: Farewell!

Every Subject's Duty Is The King's; But Every Subject's Soul Is His Own. Therefore, Should Every Soldier In The Wars Do As Every Sick Man In His Bed, Wash Every Mote Out Of His Conscience; And Dying So, Death Is To Him Advantage; Or Not Dying, The Time Was Blessedly Lost Wherein Such Preparation Was Gained; And In Him That Escapes, It Were No Sin To Think That, Making God So Free An Offer, He Let Him Outlive The Day To See His Greatness And To Teach Others How They Should Prepare.

...an Old Man Is Twice A Child.

Swear Me, Kate, Like A Lady As Thou Art, A Good Mouth-filling Oath.

Oh! That You Could Turn Your Eyes Towards The Napes Of Your Necks, And Make But An Interior Survey Of Your Good Selves.

Conceal Me What I Am, And Be My Aid For Such Disguise As Haply Shall Become The Form Of My Intent.

There Is Nothing In The World So Much Like Prayer As Music Is. ~william Shakespeare

For So Work The Honey Bees, Creatures That By A Rule In Nature Teach The Act Of Order To A Peopled Kingdom.

Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed, One Woman Would Another Wed.

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