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I Was Too Young That Time To Value Her, But Now I Know Her. If She Be A Traitor, Why, So Am I. We Still Have Slept Together, Rose At An Instant, Learned, Played, Eat Together, And Wheresoe'er We Went, Like Juno's Swans, Still We Went Coupled And Inseparable.

-William Shakespeare

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I Was Too Young

William Shakespeare

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I Was Too Young That Time To Value Her, But Now I Know Her. If She Be A Traitor, Why, So Am I. We Still Have Slept Together, Rose At An Instant, Learned, Played, Eat Together, And Wheresoe'er We Went, Like Juno's Swans, Still We Went Coupled And Inseparable.

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It Was A Lover And His Lass, With A Hey, And A Ho, And A Hey Nonino, That O'er The Green Corn-field Did Pass, In The Spring Time, The Only Pretty Ring Time, When Birds Do Sing, Hey Ding A Ding, Ding; Sweet Lovers Love The Spring.

When I Waked, I Cried To Dream Again

Justice Always Whirls In Equal Measure.

No Man's Pie Is Freed From His Ambitious Finger.

I Long To Hear The Story Of Your Life, Which Must Take The Ear Strangely.

You Speak An Infinite Deal Of Nothing.

In Black Ink My Love May Still Shine Bright.

Then Let Thy Love Be Younger Than Thyself, Or Thy Affection Cannot Hold The Bent.

If Her Breath Were As Terrible As Her Terminations, There Were No Living Near Her, She Would Infect To The North Star!

How Can Tyrants Safely Govern Home, Unless Abroad They Purchase Great Alliance.

Now Join Your Hands, And With Your Hands Your Hearts.

Nature Does Require Her Times Of Preservation.

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

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

Thrust Your Head Into The Public Street, To Gaze On Christian Fools With Varnish'd Faces.

Oh, That Way Madness Lies; Let Me Shun That.

An Arrant Traitor As Any Is In The Universal World, Or In France, Or In England.

Suspicion Always Haunts The Guilty Mind.

Young Men's Love Then Lies Not Truly In Their Hearts, But In Their Eyes.

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

To Be In Anger Is Impiety, But Who Is Man That Is Not Angry?

The Bird That Hath Been Limed In A Bush, With Trembling Wings Misdoubteth Every Bush.

But That The Dread Of Something After Death, The Undiscover'd Country From Whose Bourn No Traveller Returns, Puzzles The Will And Makes Us Rather Bear Those Ills We Have Than Fly To Others That We Know Not Of?

I Humbly Do Beseech Of Your Pardon, For Too Much Loving You

Why What A Fool Was I To This Drunken Monster For A God. - Caliban

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do

But Men May Construe Things After Their Fashion, Clean From The Purpose Of The Things Themselves.

Tis An Ill Cook That Cannot Lick His Own Fingers.

The Loyalty, Well Held To Fools, Does Make Our Faith Mere Folly.

The Will Of Man Is By His Reason Sway'd.

I Know Them, Yea, And What They Weigh, Even To The Utmost Scruple; Scambling, Out-facing, Fashion-mong'ring Boys, That Lie, And Cog, And Flout, Deprave, And Slander, Go Antickly, And Show Outward Hideousness, And Speak Off Half A Dozen Dangerous Words, How They Might Hurt Their Enemies, If They Durst; And This Is All.

Lord, Lord, How Subject We Old Men Are To This Vice Of Lying!

When Holy And Devout Religious Men Are At Their Beads, 'tis Hard To Draw Them Thence; So Sweet Is Zealous Contemplation.

The Time Is Out Of Joint : O Cursed Spite, That Ever I Was Born To Set It Right!

Hamlet And Ophelia

For Death Remembered Should Be Like A Mirror, Who Tells Us Life’s But Breath, To Trust It Error.

A Good Wit Will Make Use Of Anything.

Company, Villainous Company, Hath Been The Spoil Of Me.

Good Morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All In The Morn Betime, And I A Maid At Your Window, To Be Your Valentine.

The Golden Age Is Before Us, Not Behind Us.

Heaven - The Treasury Of Everlasting Life.

Yet But Three Come One More. Two Of Both Kinds Make Up Four. Ere She Comes Curst And Sad. Cupid Is A Knavish Lad. Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

You May My Glories And My State Depose, But Not My Griefes; Still Am I King Of Those.

Romeo: Courage, Man; The Hurt Cannot Be Much. Mercutio: No, 'tis Not So Deep As A Well, Nor So Wide As A Church-door; But 'tis Enough, 'twill Serve. Ask For Me Tomorrow, And You Shall Find Me A Grave Man.

My Hounds Are Bred Out Of The Spartan Kind; So Flew'd, So Sanded; Their Heads Are Hung With Ears That Sweep Away The Morning Dew.

Besides, They Are Our Outward Consciences, And Preachers To Us All, Admonishing That We Should Drew Us Fairly For Our End.

Hereafter, In A Better World Than This, I Shall Desire More Love And Knowledge Of You

They Were Devils Incarnate.

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.

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

Farewell, Good Salisbury, And Good Luck Go With Thee!

We Are The Lords Of All Eternity

He That Sleeps Feels Not The Tooth-ache

What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

Educated Men Are So Impressive.

Unquiet Meals Make Ill Digestions.

Eating And Drinking

Let Men Say We Be Men Of Good Government, Being Governed, As The Sea Is, By Our Noble And Chaste Mistress The Moon, Under Whose Countenance We Steal.

I Shall Laugh Myself To Death At This Puppy-headed Monster!

Strong Reasons Make Strong Actions Let Us Go If You Say Ay, The King Will Not Say No.

I'll Teach You Differences.

All's Well That Ends Well; Still The Fine's The Crown. Whate'er The Course, The End Is The Renown.

Bid The Dishonest Man Mend Himself; If He Mend, He Is No Longer Dishonest.

It Will Have Blood, They Say; Blood Will Have Blood.

Important Macbeth

The Summer's Flower Is To The Summer Sweet Though To Itself It Only Live And Die

O Sleep! O Gentle Sleep! Nature's Soft Nurse, How Have I Frighted Thee, That Thou No More Wilt Weigh My Eyelids Down And Steep My Senses In Forgetfulness? Why Rather, Sleep, Liest Thou In Smoky Cribs, Upon Uneasy Pallets Stretching Thee, And Hush'd With Buzzing Night-flies To Thy Slumber, Than In The Perfum'd Chambers Of The Great, Under The Canopies Of Costly State, And Lull'd With Sound Of Sweetest Melody?

I Thank God I Am As Honest As Any Man Living That Is An Old Man And No Honester Than I.

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.

Fair Thoughts And Happy Hours Attend On You.

I Can Counterfeit The Deep Tragedian; Speak And Look Back, And Pry On Every Side, Tremble And Start, At Wagging Of A Straw, Intending Deep Suspicion.

A Pal Is One That Is Aware You While You Are, Understands Where You Have Already Been, Accepts Whatever You Are Becoming, And Continue To, Carefully Means That You Can Develop.

For You And I Are Past Our Dancing Days.

I Love You More Than Word Can Wield The Matter, Dearer Than Eye-sight, Space And Liberty

Love Moderately. Long Love Doth So. Too Swift Arrives As Tardy As Too Slow. *love Each Other In Moderation. That Is The Key To Long-lasting Love. Too Fast Is As Bad As Too Slow.*

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 Once Our Grace We Have Forgot, Nothing Goes Right.

Measure For Measure

What To Ourselves In Passion We Propose, The Passion Ending, Doth The Purpose Lose.

O Love, Be Moderate, Allay Thy Ecstasy, In Measure Rain Thy Joy, Scant This Excess!

The Painful Warrior Famous For Fight, After A Thousand Victories, Once Foil'd, Is From The Books Of Honor Razed Quite, And All The Rest Forgot For Which He Toil'd

Woe, Destruction, Ruin, And Decay; The Worst Is Death And Death Will Have His Day.

Most Dear Actors, Eat No Onions Nor Garlic, For We Are To Utter Sweet Breath.

Alas, How Love Can Trifle With Itself!

But There Is No Such Man; For, Brother, Men Can Counsel And Speak Comfort To That Grief Which They Themselves Not Feel; But, Tasting It, Their Counsel Turns To Passion, Which Before Would Give Preceptial Medicine To Rage, Fetter Strong Madness In A Silken Thread, Charm Ache With Air And Agony With Words.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

The Blood Of Youth Burns Not With Such Excess As Gravity's Revolt To Wantonness.

It Were A Grief So Brief To Part With Thee. Farewell.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

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.

A Very Honest Woman But Something Given To Lie

No Reckoning Made, But Sent To My Account With All My Imperfections On My Head.

Who Finds The Heifer Dead And Bleeding Fresh And Sees Fast-by A Butcher With An Axe, But Will Suspect 'twas He That Made The Slaughter?

Nor Stony Tower, Nor Walls Of Beaten Brass, Nor Airless Dungeon, Nor Strong Links Of Iron, Can Be Retentive To The Strength Of Spirit; But Life, Being Weary Of These Worldly Bars, Never Lacks Power To Dismiss Itself.

Passion Makes The Will Lord Of The Reason.

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

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

Away, You Trifler! Love! I Love Thee Not, I Care Not For Thee, Kate: This Is No World To Play With Mammets And To Tilt With Lips: We Must Have Bloody Noses And Cracked Crowns.

For The Poor Wren (the Most Diminutive Of Birds) Will Fight, Her Young Ones In Her Nest, Against The Owl.

In Springtime, The Only Pretty Ring Time Birds Sing, Hey Ding A-ding, A-ding Sweet Lovers Love The Spring—

I Think The King Is But A Man As I Am: The Violet Smells To Him As It Doth To Me.

Have More Than You Show, Speak Less Than You Know.

Let Husbands Know Their Wives Have Sense Like Them. They See, And Smell, And Have Their Palates Both For Sweet And Sour, As Husbands Have.

Lady, With Me, With Me Thy Fortune Lies.

For Which Of My Bad Parts Didst Thou First Fall In Love With Me?

Falling In Love

'tis Not To Make Me Jealous To Say My Wife Is Fair, Feeds Well, Loves Company, Is Free Of Speech, Sings, Plays, And Dances Well; Where Virtue Is, These Are More Virtuous.

O, Had I But Followed The Arts!

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.

Will You Walk Out Of The Air, My Lord? Hamlet Into My Grave.

The Small Amount Of Foolery Wise Men Have Makes A Great Show.

Fie, Fie Upon Her! There's Language In Her Eye, Her Cheek, Her Lip, Nay, Her Foot Speaks; Her Wanton Spirits Look Out At Every Joint And Motive Of Her Body.

To Be Once In Doubt Is Once To Be Resolved.

The Gods Are Deaf To Hot And Peevish Vows. They Are Polluted Off'rings, More Abhorred! Than Spotted Livers In The Sacrifice.

Fair Ladies, Masked, Are Roses In Their Bud; Dismasked, The Damask Sweet Commixture Shown, Are Angels Vailing Clouds, Or Roses Blown.

His Worst Fault Is, He's Given To Prayer; He Is Something Peevish That Way.

Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be.

Iago: She That Was Ever Fair And Never Proud, Had Tongue At Will And Yet Was Never Loud, Never Lack'd Gold And Yet Went Never Gay, Fled From Her Wish And Yet Said 'now I May,' She That Being Anger'd, Her Revenge Being Nigh, Bade Her Wrong Stay And Her Displeasure Fly, She That In Wisdom Never Was So Frail To Change The Cod's Head For The Salmon's Tail; She That Could Think And Ne'er Disclose Her Mind, See Suitors Following And Not Look Behind, She Was A Wight, If Ever Such Wight Were,-- Desdemona: To Do What? Iago: To Suckle Fools And Chronicle Small Beer.

If You Can Look Into The Seeds Of Time, And Say Which Grain Will Grow And Which Will Not, Speak Then Unto Me.

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

Thou Art As Tyrannous, So As Thou Art, As Those Whose Beauties Proudly Make Them Cruel; For Well Thou Know'st To My Dear Doting Heart Thou Art The Fairest And Most Precious Jewel.

Let Them Obey That Knows Not How To Rule.

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If Ever, Now.

My Crown Is In My Heart, Not On My Head.

I Shall Despair. There Is No Creature Loves Me; And If I Die No Soul Will Pity Me: And Wherefore Should They, Since That I Myself Find In Myself No Pity To Myself?

I Like This Place And Could Willingly Waste My Time In It.

Wasting My Time

The Bay-trees In Our Country Are All Withered, And Meteors Fright The Fixèd Stars Of Heaven. The Pale-faced Moon Looks Bloody On The Earth, And Lean-looked Prophets Whisper Fearful Change. Rich Men Look Sad, And Ruffians Dance And Leap; The One In Fear To Lose What They Enjoy, The Other To Enjoy By Rage And War. These Signs Forerun The Death Or Fall Of Kings.

I Have Seen Roses Damask'd, Red And White, But No Such Roses See I In Her Cheeks.

And Nothing Can We Call Our Own But Death And That Small Model Of The Barren Earth Which Serves As Paste And Cover To Our Bones. For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings.

Friendly Counsel Cuts Off Many Foes.

The Error Of Our Eye Directs Our Mind. What Error Leads Must Err.

I Have No Way And Therefore Want No Eyes I Stumbled When I Saw. Full Oft 'tis Seen Our Means Secure Us, And Our Mere Defects Prove Our Commodities.

You Are My True And Honourable Wife; As Dear To Me As The Ruddy Drops That Visit My Sad Heart.

Sleep Knits Up The Raveled Sleeve Of Care.

Thou Art A Soul In Bliss; But I Am Bound Upon A Wheel Of Fire; That Mine Own Tears Do Scald Like Molten Lead.

Methought I Was Enamour'd Of An Ass.

For To Define True Madness, What Is't But To Be Nothing Else But Mad?

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

The Wheel Is Come Full Circle.

Why, All Delights Are Vain, But That Most Vain Which, With Pain Purchased, Doth Inherit Pain: As, Painfully To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth, Which Truth The While Doth Falsely Blind The Eyesight Of His Look.

Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feelings As To Sight?

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

Mind Your Speech A Little Lest You Should Mar Your Fortunes.

Weep Not, Sweet Queen, For Trickling Tears Are Vain.

Your Wisdom Is Consum'd In Confidence. Do Not Go Forth To-day.

Instinct Is A Great Matter. I Was Now A Coward On Instinct.

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

A Peace Is Of The Nature Of A Conquest; For Then Both Parties Nobly Are Subdued, And Neither Party Loser.

He That Has A House To Put's Head In Has A Good Head-piece.

See, What A Ready Tongue Suspicion Hath! He That But Fears The Thing He Would Not Know, Hath, By Instinct, Knowledge From Others' Eyes, That What He Feared Is Chanced.

One Sees More Devils Than Vast Hell Can Hold

The Plants Look Up To Heaven, From Whence They Have Their Nourishment.

When I Said I Would Die A Bachelor, I Did Not Think I Should Live Till I Were Married.

Men's Vows Are Women's Traitors

That Strain Again! It Had A Dying Fall: O, It Came O'er My Ear Like The Sweet Sound That Breathes Upon A Bank Of Violets, Stealing And Giving Odour! Enough; No More: 'tis Not So Sweet As It Was Before.

Suspicion Shall Be All Stuck Full Of Eyes.

Full Fathom Five Thy Father Lies

Men Must Endure Their Going Hence, Even As Their Coming Hither. Ripeness Is All.

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.

Hal, If I Tell Thee A Lie, Spit In My Face, Call Me Horse.

Our Holy Lives Must Win A New World's Crown.

Do You Take Me For A Sponge, My Lord? Hamlet: Ay, Sir; That Soaks Up The King's Countenance, His Rewards, His Authorities. But Such Officers Do The King Best Service In The End: He Keeps Them, Like An Ape, In The Corner Of His Jaw; First Mouthed, To Be Last Swallowed: When He Needs What You Have Gleaned, It Is But Squeezing You, And, Sponge, You Shall Be Dry Again. Rosencrantz: I Understand You Not, My Lord. Hamlet: I Am Glad Of It: A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Foolish Ear.

A Man May Fish With The Worm That Hath Eat Of A King, And Eat Of The Fish That Hath Fed Of That Worm

Courage And Comfort, All Shall Yet Go Well

The Devil Can Cite Scripture For His Purpose.

The Prize Of All Too Precious You.

Beware Of Entrance To A Quarrel, But, Being In, Bear T That Th' Opposed May Beware Of Thee.

Important Hamlet

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

Thus Have I, Wall, My Part Discharged So; And, Being Done, Thus Wall Away Doth Go.

The Pleasing Punishment That Women Bear.

The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.

To Die: - To Sleep: No More; And, By A Sleep To Say We End The Heart-ache And The Thousand Natural Shocks That Flesh Is Heir To, 'tis A Consummation Devoutly To Be Wished.

O, What A World Of Vile Ill-favored Faults, Looks Handsome In Three Hundred Pounds A Year!

Grace And Remembrance Be To You Both.

Wedding Anniversary

When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out

His Forward Voice Now Is To Speak Well Of His Friend. His Backward Voice Is To Utter Foul Speeches And To Detract.

Come My Spade. There Is No Ancient Gentlemen But Gardeners, Ditchers, And Grave-makers; They Hold Up Adam's Profession.

Things Won Are Done, Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing.

In Religion, What Damned Error But Some Sober Brow Will Bless It, And Approve It With A Text, Hiding The Grossness With Fair Ornament?

Thyself And Thy Belongings Are Not Thine Own So Proper, As To Waste Thyself Upon Thy Virtues, They On Thee. Heaven Doth With Us As We With Torches Do, Not Light Them For Themselves; For If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us 't Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not. Spirits Are Not Finely Touch'd But To Fine Issues; Nor Nature Never Lends The Smallest Scruple Of Her Excellence, But, Like A Thrifty Goddess, She Determines Herself The Glory Of A Creditor - Both Thanks And Use.

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty.

This England Never Did, Nor Never Shall, Lie At The Proud Foot Of A Conqueror.

I Am Indeed Not Her Fool, But Her Corrupter Of Words. (act Iii, Sc. I, 37-38)

Twelfth Night Important

Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive, For Things That Are Not To Be Remedied.

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

Tis Time To Fear When Tyrants Seem To Kiss.

Beware The Leader Who Bangs The Drums Of War In Order To Whip The Citizenry Into A Patriotic Fervor.

Men Of Few Words Are The Best Men." (3.2.41)

Written Language

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!

The Pow'r That I Have On You Is To Spare You; The Malice Towards You To Forgive You.

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian.

How Sometimes Nature Will Betray Its Folly, Its Tenderness, And Make Itself A Pastime To Harder Bosoms!

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.

This Is His Uncle's Teaching, This Worcester, Malevolent To You In All Aspects, Which Makes Him Prune Himself And Bristle Up The Crest Of Youth Against Your Dignity.

There's Villainous News Abroad.

If I Could Write The Beauty Of Your Eyes And In Fresh Numbers Number All Your Graces, The Age To Come Would Say, 'this Poet Lies; Such Heavenly Touches Ne'er Touch'd Earthly Faces.'

That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold When Yellow Leaves, Or None, Or Few, Do Hang Upon Those Boughs Which Shake Against The Cold, Bare Ruin'd Choirs, Where Late The Sweet Birds Sang. In Me Thou Seest The Twilight Of Such Day, As After Sunset Fadeth In The West, Which By-and-by Black Night Doth Take Away.

I Have Heard Of Your Paintings Too, Well Enough; God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourselves Another.

To Set A Gloss On Faint Deeds, Hollow Welcomes, Recanting Goodness, Sorry Ere 'tis Shown; But Where There Is True Friendship, There Needs None.

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine.

This Act Is An Ancient Tale New Told; And, In The Last Repeating, Troublesome, Being Urged At A Time Unseasonable.

A Hundred Thousand Welcomes: I Could Weep, And I Could Laugh; I Am Light And Heavy: Welcome.

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.

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