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If You Shall Marry, You Give Away This Hand, And This Is Mine; You Give Away Heaven's Vows, And Those Are Mine; You Give Away Myself, Which Is Known Mine; For I By Vow Am So Embodied Yours That She Which Marries You Must Marry Me-- Either Both Or None.

-William Shakespeare

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If You Shall Marry,

William Shakespeare

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If You Shall Marry, You Give Away This Hand, And This Is Mine; You Give Away Heaven's Vows, And Those Are Mine; You Give Away Myself, Which Is Known Mine; For I By Vow Am So Embodied Yours That She Which Marries You Must Marry Me-- Either Both Or None.

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

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks! Rage! Blow! You Cataracts And Hurricanoes, Spout Till You Have Drenched Our Teeples, Drowned The Cocks! You Sulphurour And Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-couriers To Oak-cleaving Thunderbolts, Singe My White Head! And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Molds, All Germens Spill At Once That Make Ingrateful Man!

Violent Fires Soon Burn Out Themselves, Small Showers Last Long, But Sudden Storms Are Short; He Tires Betimes That Spurs Too Fast.

Unbidden Guests Are Often Welcomest When They Are Gone.

The Mightier Man, The Mightier Is The Thing That Makes Him Honored Or Begets Him Hate; For Greatest Scandal Waits On Greatest State.

There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will.

Denmark In Hamlet

Hamlet And Ophelia

She Never Told Her Love, But Let Concealment, Like A Worm 'i Th' Bud, Feed On Her Damask Cheek. She Pinned In Thought; And, With A Green And Yellow Melancholy, She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief. Was Not This Love Indeed? We Men May Say More, Swear More; But Indeed Our Shows Are More Than Will; For We Still Prove Much In Our Vows But Little In Our Love.

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

I Will Not Be Sworn But Love May Transform Me To An Oyster

If Money Go Before, All Ways Do Lie Open.

My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun

How Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth It Is To Have A Thankless Child!

Things Done Well And With A Care, Exempt Themselves From Fear.

Gnawing With My Teeth My Bonds In Sunder, I Gain'd My Freedom.

Tis A Blushing Shame-faced Spirit That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom. It Fills A Man Full Of Obstacles. It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That (by Chance) I Found. It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It.

Maids Want Nothing But Husbands, And When They Have Them, They Want Everything.

A Good Old Man, Sir. He Will Be Talking. As They Say, When The Age Is In, The Wit Is Out.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.

When Workmen Strive To Do Better Than Well, They Do Confound Their Skill In Covetousness.

The Icy Precepts Of Respect.

The Seasons Change Their Manners, As The Year Had Found Some Months Asleep And Leapt Them Over.

Speak, What Trade Art Thou? Why, Sir, A Carpenter. Where Is Thy Leather Apron And Thy Rule? What Does Thou With Thy Best Apparel On?

Full Of Wise Saws And Modern Instances.

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

I...kisss The Tender Inward Of Thy Hand.

Love That We Cannot Have Is The One That Lasts The Longest,hurts The Deepest,but Feels The Strongest

My Business Was Great, And In Such A Case As Mine A Man May Strain Courtesy.

Now Would I Give A Thousand Furlongs Of Sea For An Acre Of Barren Ground.

O Fortune, Fortune! All Men Call Thee Fickle.

King Henry: But What A Point, My Lord, Your Falcon Made, And What A Pitch She Flew Above The Rest! To See How God In All His Creatures Works! Yea, Man And Birds Are Fain Of Climbing High. Suffolk: No Marvel, An It Like Your Majesty, My Lord Protectors Hawks Do Tower So Well; They Know Their Masters Loves To Be Aloft, And Bears His Thoughts Above His Falcon's Pitch. Gloucester: My Lord, 'tis But A Base Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.

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.

Ay, In The Catalogue Ye Go For Men; As Hounds, And Greyhounds, Mongrels, Spaniels, Curs, Shoughs, Water-rugs, And Demi-wolves, Are 'clept All By The Name Of Dogs: The Valued File Distinguishes The Swift, The Slow, The Subtle, The Housekeeper, The Hunter, Every One According To The Gift Which Bounteous Nature Hath In Him Closed.

And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

Darkness In Macbeth

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.

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'

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

For Now I Stand As One Upon A Rock Environed With A Wilderness Of Sea, Who Marks The Waxing Tide Grow Wave By Wave, Expecting Ever When Some Envious Surge Will In His Brinish Bowels Swallow Him.

By Heaven, My Soul Is Purg'd From Grudging Hate; And With My Hand I Seal My True Heart's Love

See What A Ready Tongue Suspicion Hath!

All That Glitters Is Not Gold.

When I Got Enough Confidence, The Stage Was Gone. When I Was Sure Of Losing, I Won. When I Needed People The Most, They Left Me. When I Learnt To Dry My Tears, I Found A Shoulder To Cry On. And When I Mastered The Art Of Hating, Somebody Started Loving Me.

Thou Hast Seen A Farmer's Dog Bark At A Beggar? And The Creature Run From The Cur. There Thou Mightst Behold The Great Image Of Authority-a Dog's Obeyed In Office.

Know More Than Other. Work More Than Other. Expect Less Than Other

A Light Wife Doth Make A Heavy Husband.

O Heaven! Were Man, But Constant, He Were Perfect.

There Is No Slander In An Allowed Fool, Though He Do Nothing But Rail.

He That Is Thy Friend Indeed, He Will Help Thee In Thy Need: If Thou Sorrow, He Will Weep; If Thou Wake, He Cannot Sleep: Thus Of Every Grief In Heart He With Thee Does Bear A Part. These Are Certain Signs To Know Faithful Friend From Flattering Foe.

The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And Die, But For The End It Works To.

O, Had I But Followed The Arts!

I Can Give The Loser Leave To Chide.

To Show Our Simple Skill, That Is The True Beginning Of Our End.

For Thou Hast Given Me In This Beauteous Face A World Of Earthly Blessings To My Soul, If Sympathy Of Love Unite Our Thoughts.

And How His Audit Stands Who Knows, Save Heaven?

So Shows A Snowy Dove Trooping With Crows As Yonder Lady O'er Her Fellows Shows.

And Mind, With My Heart In't; And Now Farewell Till Half An Hour Hence.

O, But They Say, The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention, Like Deep Harmony: Where Words Are Scarce, They Are Seldom Spent In Vain: For They Breathe Truth, That Breathe Their Words In Pain. He, That No More Must Say, Is Listened More Than They Whom Youth And Ease Have Taught To Gloze; More Are Men's Ends Marked, Than Their Lives Before: The Setting Sun, And Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last; Writ In Rememberance More Than Things Long Past

Unnatural Deeds Do Breed Unnatural Troubles.

Never; He Will Not: Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety: Other Women Cloy The Appetites They Feed: But She Makes Hungry Where Most She Satisfies.

For What Good Turn? Messenger: For The Best Turn Of The Bed.

Who Is It That Can Tell Me Who I Am?

For To Be Wise And Love Exceeds Man's Might.

This Man, Lady, Hath Robb'd Many Beasts Of Their Particular Additions: He Is As Valiant As A Lion, Churlish As The Bear, Slow As The Elephant-a Man Into Whom Nature Hath So Crowded Humours That His Valour Is Crush'd Into Folly, His Folly Sauced With Discretion.

Ay, Is It Not A Language I Speak?

I Hold The World But As The World, Gratiano; A Stage Where Every Man Must Play A Part, And Mine Is A Sad One.

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.

Out Of This Nettle - Danger - We Pluck This Flower - Safety.

These Blessed Candles Of The Night.

Merchant Of Venice

While We Lie Tumbling In The Hay.

In God's Name Cheerly On, Courageous Friends, To Reap The Harvest Of Perpetual Peace By This One Bloody Trial Of Sharp War.

A Good Sherris-sack Hath A Twofold Operation In It. It Ascends Me Into The Brain,... Makes It Apprehensive, Quick, Forgetive, Full Of Nimble, Fiery, And Delectable Shapes.

I Hold My Peace, Sir? No; No, I Will Speak As Liberal As The North; Let Heaven And Men And Devils, Let Them All, All, All, Cry Shame Against Me, Yet I'll Speak.

I Have A Bone To Pick With Fate

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love.

Now I Will Believe That There Are Unicorns.

To Weep Is To Make Less The Depth Of Grief.

Grief Hath Two Tongues; And Never Woman Yet Could Rule Them Both Without Ten Women's Wit.

My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy Behind.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds, That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief?

And His Unkindness May Defeat My Life, But Never Taint My Love.

Past And To Come, Seems Best; Things Present, Worse.

A Lover's Eyes Will Gaze An Eagle Blind.

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

Love Reasons Without Reason.

Now, By The World, It Is A Lusty Wench; I Love Her Ten Times More Than E'er I Did: O, How I Long To Have Some Chat With Her!

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.

I Praise God For You, Sir: Your Reasons At Dinner Have Been Sharp And Sententious; Pleasant Without Scurrility, Witty Without Affectation, Audacious Without Impudency, Learned Without Opinion, And Strange With-out Heresy.

Go Hang Yourself, You Naughty Mocking Uncle!

Angels And Ministers Of Grace Defend Us! Be Thou A Spirit Of Health, Or Goblin Damn'd, Bring With Thee Airs From Heaven, Or Blasts From Hell, Be Thy Intents Wicked, Or Charitable, Thou Com'st In Such A Questionable Shape, That I Will Speak To Thee.

If To Do Were As Easy As To Know What Were Good To Do, Chapels Had Been Churches, And Poor Men's Cottage Princes' Palaces.

Delivers In Such Apt And Gracious Words That Aged Ears Play Truant At His Tales; And Younger Hearings Are Quite Ravished; So Sweet And Voluble Is His Discourse.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.

My Heart Laments That Virtue Cannot Live Out Of The Teeth Of Emulation.

Farewell, Fair Cruelty.

O Romeo, Romeo, Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? Deny Thy Father Refuse Thy Name, Thou Art Thyself Thou Not A Montegue, What Is Montegue? Tis Nor Hand Nor Foot Nor Any Other Part Belonging To A Man What Is In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet, So Romeo Would Were He Not Romeo Called Retain Such Dear Perfection To Which He Owes Without That Title, Romeo, Doth Thy Name! And For That Name Which Is No Part Of Thee, Take All Thyself.

Let None Presume To Wear An Undeserved Dignity.

Methinks A Father Is At The Nuptial Of His Son A Guest That Best Becomes The Table.

Fondling,' She Saith, 'since I Have Hemm'd Thee Here Within The Circuit Of This Ivory Pale, I'll Be A Park, And Thou Shalt Be My Deer; Feed Where Thou Wilt, On Mountain Or In Dale: Graze On My Lips, And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

Lovers And Madmen Have Such Seething Brains Such Shaping Fantasies, That Apprehend More Than Cool Reason Ever Comprehends.

Mine Eyes Smell Onions: I Shall Weep Anon.

I Do Love My Country's Good With A Respect More Tender, More Holy And Profound, Then Mine Own Life, My Dear Wife's Estimate, Her Womb Increase, And Treasure Of My Loins.

If By Chance I Talk A Little Wild, Forgive Me; I Had It From My Father.

Canst Thou Not Minister To A Mind Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain

The Gaudy, Blabbing, And Remorseful Day Is Crept Into The Bosom Of The Sea.

Flower Of This Purple Dye, Hit With Cupid's Archery, Sink In Apple Of His Eye.

I Doubt Not Then But Innocence Shall Makefalse Accusation Blush, And Tyrannytremble At Patience.

What's The News? None, My Lord, But That The World's Grown Honest, Then Is Doomsday Near.

Antonio: Will You Stay No Longer? Nor Will You Not That I Go With You? Sebastian: By Your Patience, No. My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me; The Malignancy Of My Fate Might, Perhaps, Distemper Yours; Therefore I Shall Crave Of You Your Leave That I May Bear My Evils Alone. It Were A Bad Recompense For Your Love To Lay Any Of Them On You.

Have I Caught Thee, My Heavenly Jewel? Why, Now Let Me Die, For I Have Lived Long Enough.

Vengeance Is In My Heart, Death In My Hand,blood And Revenge Are Hammering In My Head.

Lovers Can Do Their Amorous Rites By Their Own Beauties

Romantic Romeo And Juliet

But 'tis Common Proof, That Lowliness Is Young Ambition's Ladder, Whereto The Climber-upward Turns His Face; But When He Once Attains The Upmost Round, He Then Turns His Back, Looks In The Clouds, Scorning The Vase Defrees By Which He Did Ascend.

Nature, As It Grows Again Toward Earth, Is Fashioned For The Journey, Dull And Heavy.

How Hard It Is To Hide The Sparks Of Nature!

At Christmas I No More Desire A Rose Than Wish A Snow In May's New-fangled Mirth; But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell.

Important Macbeth

This Fellow Is Wise Enough To Play The Fool; And To Do That Well Craves A Kind Of Wit: He Must Observe Their Mood On Whom He Jests, The Quality Of Persons, And The Time, And, Like The Haggard, Check At Every Feather That Comes Before His Eye. This Is A Practise As Full Of Labour As A Wise Man's Art For Folly That He Wisely Shows Is Fit; But Wise Men, Folly-fall'n, Quite Taint Their Wit.

In Truth, Fair Montague, I Am Too Fond.

Romeo And Juliet Love

You Take My Life When You Do Take The Means Whereby I Live

I Will Go Wash; And When My Face Is Fair, You Shall Perceive Whether I Blush Or No.

Like Madness, Is The Glory Of This Life.

Pastime Passing Excellent, If It He Husbanded With Modesty.

At Christmas, I No More Desire A Rose.

Petruchio: Come, Come, You Wasp; I' Faith, You Are Too Angry. Katherine: If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My Sting. Petruchio: My Remedy Is Then, To Pluck It Out. Katherine: Ay, If The Fool Could Find Where It Lies. Petruchio: Who Knows Not Where A Wasp Does Wear His Sting? In His Tail. Katherine: In His Tongue. Petruchio: Whose Tongue? Katherine: Yours, If You Talk Of Tails: And So Farewell. Petruchio: What, With My Tongue In Your Tail? Nay, Come Again, Good Kate; I Am A Gentleman.

Laughing Faces Do Not Mean That There Is Absence Of Sorrow! But It Means That They Have The Ability To Deal With It

When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay It Uses An Enforced Ceremony.

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.

A Good Wit Will Make Use Of Anything.

There's No Trust, No Faith, No Honesty In Men; All Perjured, All Forsworn, All Naught, All Dissemblers.

No Might Nor Greatness In Mortality Can Censure 'scape; Back- Wounding Calumny The Whitest Virtue Strikes. What King So Strong Can Tie The Gall Up In The Slanderous Tongue?

The Happiest Youth, Viewing His Progress Through, What Perils Past, What Crosses To Ensue, Would Shut The Book, And Sit Him Down And Die.

[s]ince Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, And Tediousness The Limbs And Outward Flourishes, I Will Be Brief.

Important Hamlet

Take Her Away; For She Hath Lived Too Long, To Fill The World With Vicious Qualities.

An Earnest Conjuration From The King, As England Was His Faithful Tributary, As Love Between Them Like The Palm Might Flourish, As Peace Should Still Her Wheaten Garland Wear And Stand A Comma 'tween Their Amities, And Many Such-like As's Of Great Charge, That, On The View And Knowing Of These Contents, Without Debatement Further, More Or Less, He Should The Bearers Put To Sudden Death, Not Shriving Time Allow'd.

Suspicion Shall Be All Stuck Full Of Eyes.

O, Full Of Scorpions Is My Mind!

When Griping Grief The Heart Doth Wound, And Doleful Dumps The Mind Opresses, Then Music, With Her Silver Sound, With Speedy Help Doth Lend Redress.

Were It My Cue To Fight, I Should Have Known It Without A Prompter.

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.

Thou Art The Mars Of Malcontents.

They Say Miracles Are Past.

Our Rash Faults Make Trivial Price Of Serious Thing We Have, Not Knowing Them Until We Know Their Grave.

Come Away, Come Away, Death, And In Sad Cypres Let Me Be Laid; Fly Away, Fly Away, Breath; I Am Slain By A Fair Cruel Maid.

He Thinks Too Much. Such Men Are Dangerous.

Love Is Your Master, For He Masters You; And He That Is So Yoked By A Fool Methinks Should Not Be Chronicled For Wise.

O, How Wretched Is That Poor Man That Hangs On Princes' Favors.

For In My Youth I Never Did Apply Hot And Rebellious Liquors In My Blood.

What Should Such Fellows As I Do Crawling Between Earth And Heaven?

Hamlet And Ophelia

The Apprehension Of The Good Gives But The Greater Feeling To The Worse.

Out Of Her Favour, Where I Am In Love.

Romeo And Juliet Love

Tam: What Begg’st Thou Then? Fond Woman, Let Me Go. Lav: ’tis Present Death I Beg; And One Thing More That Womanhood Denies My Tongue To Tell. O! Keep Me From Their Worse Than Killing Lust, And Tumble Me Into Some Loathsome Pit, Where Never Man’s Eye May Behold My Body: Do This, And Be A Charitable Murderer. Tam: So Should I Rob My Sweet Sons Of Their Fee: No, Let Them Satisfy Their Lust On Thee. Dem: Away! For Thou Hast Stay’d Us Here Too Long. Lav: No Grace! No Womanhood! Ah, Beastly Creature, The Blot And Enemy To Our General Name. Confusion Fall—

Fairest Cordelia, That Art Most Rich, Being Poor; Most Choice, Forsaken; And Most Loved, Despised! Thee And Thy Virtues Here I Seize Upon: Be It Lawful I Take Up What's Cast Away. Gods, Gods! 'tis Strange That From Their Cold'st Neglect My Love Should Kindle To Inflamed Respect. Thy Dowerless Daughter, King, Thrown To My Chance, Is Queen Of Us, Of Ours, And Our Fair France: Not All The Dukes Of Waterish Burgundy Can Buy This Unprized Precious Maid Of Me. Bid Them Farewell, Cordelia, Though Unkind: Thou Losest Here, A Better Where To Find.

A Right Judgment Draws Us A Profit From All Things We See .

Oh God! That One Might Read The Book Of Fate, And See The Revolution Of The Times Make Mountains Level, And The Continent, Weary Of Solid Firmness, Melt Itself Into The Sea.

A Blind Man Can't Forget The Eyesight He Lost, Show Me Any Beautiful Girl. How Can Her Beauty Not Remind Me Of The One Whose Beauty Surpasses Hers?

Love Is Merely A Madness.

Love Is . . . A Madness Most Discreet

I Do I Know Not What, And Fear To Find Mine Eye Too Great A Flatterer For My Mind. Fate, Show Thy Force. Ourselves We Do Not Owe. What Is Decreed Must Be; And Be This So.

The Tyrant Custom, Most Grave Senators, Hath Made The Flinty And Steel Couch Of War My Thrice-driven Bed Of Down.

What Must Be Shall Be.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief? O Sweet My Mother, Cast Me Not Away! Delay This Marriage For A Month, A Week, Or If You Do Not, Make The Bridal Bed In That Dim Monument Where Tybalt Lies.

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.

What's Gone, And What's Past Help, Should Be Past Grief.

Winter, Which, Being Full Of Care, Makes Summer's Welcome Thrice More Wish'd, More Rare.

He That Filches From Me My Good Name Robs Me Of That Which Enriches Him And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

The Violence Of Either Grief Or Joy, Their Own Enactures With Themselves Destroy.

For Trust Not Him That Hath Once Broken Faith

So Our Virtues Lie In The Interpretation Of The Time

Beauty Is Bought By Judgement Of The Eye.

Beautiful Women

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow, Than A Man Swear He Loves Me.

One Woman Is Fair, Yet I Am Well; Another Is Wise, Yet I Am Well; Another Virtuous, Yet I Am Well; But Till All Graces Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace.

Greatness Knows Itself.

Double, Double, Toil And Trouble; Fire Burn, And Cauldron Bubble!

All The World's A Stage, And All The Men And Women Merely Players: They Have Their Exits And Their Entrances; And One Man In His Time Plays Many Parts, His Acts Being Seven Ages.

A Lean Cheek; Which You Have Not: A Blue Eye, And Sunken; Which You Have Not: An Unquestionable Spirit; Which You Have Not: A Beard Neglected; Which You Have Not: — But I Pardon You For That; For, Simply, Your Having1 In Beard Is A Younger Brother's Revenue: — Then Your Hose Should Be Ungarter'd, Your Bonnet Unhanded, Your Sleeve Unbuttoned, Your Shoe Untied, And Every Thing About You Demonstrating A Careless Desolation.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

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

After Your Death You Were Better Have A Bad Epitaph Than Their Ill Report While You Live.

My Love Is Thaw'd; Which, Like A Waxen Image 'gainst A Fire, Bears No Impression Of The Thing It Was

It Is A Tale Told By An Idiot, Full Of Sound And Fury; Signifying Nothing.

Flesh And Blood, You, Brother Mine, That Entertain'd Ambition, Expell'd Remorse And Nature, Who, With Sebastian- Whose Inward Pinches Therefore Are Most Strong- Would Here Have Kill'd Your King, I Do Forgive Thee, Unnatural Though Thou Art.

I Have Been Studying How I May Compare This Prison Where I Live Unto The World; And, For Because The World Is Populous, And Here Is Not A Creature But Myself, I Cannot Do It. Yet I'll Hammer It Out.

She Says I Am Not Fair, That I Lack Manners; She Calls Me Proud, And That She Could Not Love Me, Were Man As Rare As Phoenix.

Tis A Happy Thing To Be The Father Unto Many Sons.

It Is Not, Nor It Cannot, Come To Good, But Break, My Heart, For I Must Hold My Tongue.

Hamlet And Ophelia

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

Falling In Love

Poor And Content, Is Rich And Rich Enough; But Riches, Fineless, Is As Poor As Winter, To Him That Ever Fears He Shall Be Poor.

Self Improvement

How Wayward Is This Foolish Love That, Like A Testy Babe, Will Scratch The Nurse And Presently, All Humble, Kiss The Rod.

And Be These Juggling Friends No More Believ'd, That Palter With Us In A Double Sense; That Keep The Word Of Promise To Our Ear And Break It To Our Hope.

Tears Water Our Growth.

A Scar Nobly Got Is A Good Livery Of Honor.

Your Gentleness Shall Force More Than Your Force Move Us To Gentleness.

If People Knew How Much I Hated Them, They'd Love Me For Holding It In.

Like Patience Gazing On Kings' Graves, And Smiling Extremity Out Of Act.

What's More To Do, Which Would Be Planted Newly With The Time, As Calling Home Our Exiled Friends Abroad That Fled The Snares Of Watchful Tyranny, Producing Forth The Cruel Ministers Of This Dead Butcher And His Fiend-like Queen, Who, As 'tis Thought, By Self And Violent Hands Took Off Her Life; This, And What Needful Else That Calls Upon Us, By The Grace Of Grace We Will Perform In Measure, Time, And Place.

These Cardinals Trifle With Me; I Abhor; This Dilatory Sloth And Tricks Of Rome.

Rumor Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures.

To Whom God Will, There Be The Victory.

Tis A Cruelty To Load A Fallen Man.

I Would There Were No Age Between Sixteen And Three-and-twenty, Or That Youth Would Sleep Out The Rest; For There Is Nothing In The Between But Getting Wenches With Child, Wronging The Ancientry, Stealing, Fighting

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