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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.

-William Shakespeare

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Time's The King Of

William Shakespeare

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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.

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Let Me Tell You, Cassius, You Yourself Are Much Condemned To Have An Itching Palm.

It Is Held That Valor Is The Chiefest Virtue, And Most Dignifies The Haver.

Mine Honor Is My Life, Both Grow In One. Take Honor From Me, And My Life Is Done. Then, Dear My Liege, Mine Honor Let Me Try; In That I Live, And For That I Will Die.

But Indeed An Old Religious Uncle Of Mine Taught Me To Speak, Who Was In His Youth An Inland Man; One That Knew Courtship Too Well, For There He Fell In Love. I Have Heard Him Read Many Lectures Against It; And I Thank God I Am Not A Woman, To Be Touched With So Many Giddy Offenses As He Hath Generally Taxed Their Whole Sex Withal.

Zounds! Sir, You Are One Of Those That Will Not Serve God If The Devil Bid You.

Too Much To Know Is To Know Naught But Fame.

No, No, No, No! Come, Let's Away To Prison: We Two Alone Will Sing Like Birds I' The Cage: When Thou Dost Ask Me Blessing, I'll Kneel Down, And Ask Of Thee Forgiveness: So We'll Live, And Pray, And Sing, And Tell Old Tales, And Laugh At Gilded Butterflies, And Hear Poor Rogues Talk Of Court News; And We'll Talk With Them Too, Who Loses And Who Wins; Who's In, Who's Out; And Take Upon's The Mystery Of Things, As If We Were God's Spies: And We'll Wear Out, In A Wall'd Prison, Packs And Sects Of Great Ones, That Ebb And Flow By The Moon.

The Path Is Smooth That Leadeth On To Danger.

Do You Bite Your Thumb At Us, Sir?

Romeo And Juliet Love

[thine] Face Is Not Worth Sunburning.

Whether 'tis Nobler In The Mind To Suffer The Slings And Arrows Of Outrageous Fortune, Or To Take Arms Against A Sea Of Troubles, And By Opposing End Them?

Things Without All Remedy Should Be Without Regard: What's Done Is Done.

Be Wise As Thou Art Cruel, Do Not Press My Tongue-tied Patience With Too Much Disdain: Lest Sorrow Lend Me Words And Words Express, The Manner Of My Pity-wanting Pain.

There Is No Such Sport As Sport By Sport O'erthrown.

Be Not Afeard; The Isle Is Full Of Noises.

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

I Am Very Proud, Revengeful, Ambitious, With More Offences At My Beck Than I Have Thoughts To Put Them In, Imagination To Give Them Shape, Or Time To Act Them In.

May Never Glorious Sun Reflex His Beams Upon The Country Where You Make Abode! But Darkness And The Gloomy Shade Of Death Environ You Till Mischief And Despair Drive You To Break Your Necks Or Hang Yourselves.

She Is A Woman, Therefore To Be Won.

What Drink'st Thou Oft, Instead Of Homage Sweet, But Poisoned Flattery?

Death Where Is Thy Sting? Love, Where Is Thy Glory?

He Is As Full Of Valor As Of Kindness. Princely In Both.

O, Wonder! How Many Goodly Creatures Are There Here! How Beauteous Mankind Is! O Brave New World, That Has Such People In't!

Brave New World

Lady, You Are The Cruel'st She Alive If You Will Lead These Graces To The Grave And Leave The World No Copy.

Give Me A Staff Of Honor For Mine Age, But Not A Sceptre To Control The World.

Frailty, Thy Name Is Woman!

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.

Is Not The Truth The Truth?

O, I Have Suffered With Those That I Saw Suffer! A Brave Vessel (who Had No Doubt Some Noble Creature In Her) Dashed All To Pieces! O, The Cry Did Knock Against My Very Heart! Poor Souls, They Perished!

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

Throw Physic To The Dogs; I'll None Of It.

Dumb Jewels Often, In Their Silent Kind, More Than Quick Words, Do Move A Woman's Mind.

Some Men There Are Love Not A Gaping Pig, Some That Are Mad If They Behold A Cat, And Others When The Bagpipe Sings I The Nose Cannot Contain Their Urine.

Though Patience Be A Tired Mare, Yet She Will Plod.

A Man In All The World's New Fashion Planted, That Hath A Mint Of Phrases In His Brain.

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!

With This Special Observance, That You O'erstep Not The Modesty Of Nature. For Anything So Overdone Is From The Purpose Of Playing, Whose End, Both At The First And Now, Was And Is, To Hold, As 'twere, The Mirror Up To Nature.

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

Oh, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright! It Seems She Hangs Upon The Cheek Of Night Like A Rich Jewel In An Ethiope’s Ear, Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear. So Shows A Snowy Dove Trooping With Crows As Yonder Lady O'er Her Fellows Shows. The Measure Done, I’ll Watch Her Place Of Stand, And, Touching Hers, Make Blessèd My Rude Hand. Did My Heart Love Till Now? Forswear It, Sight! For I Ne'er Saw True Beauty Till This Night.

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

Let Each Man Do His Best.

As He Was Valiant, I Honour Him. But As He Was Ambitious, I Slew Him.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

Knit Your Hearts With An Unslipping Knot.

A Jest's Prosperity Lies In The Ear

Mechanic Slaves With Greasy Aprons, Rules, And Hammers, Shall Uplift Us To The View.

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.

A Little Water Clears Us Of This Deed.

Bow, Stubborn Knees, And, Heart With Strings Of Steel, Be Soft As Sinews Of The New-born Babe. All Many Be Well.

For A Quart Of Ale Is A Dish For A King.

What Is Thy Sentence Then But Speechless Death.

Strikes Deeper, Grows With More Pernicious Root.

Highly Fed And Lowly Taught.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus Or Thus. Our Bodies Are Our Gardens To The Which Our Wills Are Gardeners.

Love Is Merely A Madness; And, I Tell You, Deserves As Well A Dark House And A Whip As Madmen Do; And The Reason Why They Are Not So Punish'd And Cured Is That The Lunacy Is So Ordinary That The Whippers Are In Love Too.

Lechery, Lechery; Still, Wars And Lechery: Nothing Else Holds Fashion.

To Be In Love- Where Scorn Is Bought With Groans, Coy Looks With Heart-sore Sighs, One Fading Moment's Mirth With Twenty Watchful, Weary, Tedious Nights; If Haply Won, Perhaps A Hapless Gain; If Lost, Why Then A Grievous Labour Won; However, But A Folly Bought With Wit, Or Else A Wit By Folly Vanquished.

Ill Deeds Are Doubled With An Evil Word.

The Gallantry Of His Grief Did Put Me Into A Towering Passion.

Love And Meekness, Lord, Become A Churchman Better Than Ambition: Win Straying Souls With Modesty Again, Cast None Away.

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

Alas, Poor Yorick! I Knew Him, Horatio: A Fellow Of Infinite Jest, Of Most Excellent Fancy: He Hath Borne Me On His Back A Thousand Times; And Now, How Abhorred In My Imagination It Is! My Gorge Rims At It. Here Hung Those Lips That I Have Kissed I Know Not How Oft. Where Be Your Gibes Now? Your Gambols? Your Songs? Your Flashes Of Merriment, That Were Wont To Set The Table On A Roar? Not One Now, To Mock Your Own Grinning? Quite Chap-fallen?

Death Makes No Conquest Of This Conqueror: For Now He Lives In Fame, Though Not In Life.

People’s Good Deeds We Write In Water. The Evil Deeds Are Etched In Brass.

... The Spring, The Summer, The Chilling Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries; And The Mazed World By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

Hold, Or Cut Bowstrings.

Some Men Never Seem To Grow Old. Always Active In Thought, Always Ready To Adopt New Ideas, They Are Never Chargeable With Foggyism. Satisfied, Yet Ever Dissatisfied, Settled, Yet Ever Unsettled, They Always Enjoy The Best Of What Is, Are The First To Find The Best Of What Will Be.

Hopeless And Helpless Doth Egeon Wend, But To Procrastinate His Liveless End.

Get Thee To A Nunnery.

I Can See His Pride Peep Through Each Part Of Him.

Hath Not A Jew Eyes? Hath Not A Jew Hands, Organs, Dimensions, Senses, Affections, Passions? ...if You Poison Us, Do We Not Die? And If You Wrong Us, Shall We Not Revenge? If We Are Like You In The Rest, We Will Resemble You In That. If A Jew Wrong A Christian, What Is His Humility? Revenge. If A Christian Wrong A Jew, What Should His Sufferance Be By Christian Example?

Forbear To Judge, For We Are Sinners All.

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.

O Tiger's Heart Wrapped In A Woman's Hide!

What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

You Are Made Rather To Wonder At The Things You Hear Than To Work Any.

Sweets Grown Common Lose Their Dear Delight.

Feed On Her Damask Cheek: She Pined In Thought, And With A Green And Yellow Melancholy She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief

I Begin To Find An Idle And Fond Bondage In The Oppression Of Aged Tyranny, Who Sways, Not As It Hath Power, But As It Is Suffered.

Fairies Use Flowers For Their Charactery.

In Limited Professions There's Boundless Theft.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes.

Women Are Not In Their Best Fortunes Strong, But Want Will Perjure The Ne'er-touched Vestal.

How Now, Wit! Whither Wander You?

Henceforth, I'll Bear Affliction Till It Do Cry Out Itself, 'enough, Enough, And Die.

Farewell! Thou Art Too Dear For My Possessing.

A Man Should Be What He Seems.

My Love Is Thine To Teach; Teach It But How, And Thou Shalt See How Apt It Is To Learn. Any Hard Lesson That May Do Thee Good.

World, World, O World! But That Thy Strange Mutations Make Us Hate Thee/ Life Would Not Yield To Age.

Crack'd In Pieces By Malignant Death.

Youth To Itself Rebels, Though None Else Near.

I Am Not Bound To Please Thee With My Answer.

Time Travels In Divers Paces With Divers Persons.

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.

Measure For Measure

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

Foul Whisp'rings Are Abroad.

Speak, My Fair, And Fairly, I Pray Thee.

Self-love Is The Most Inhibited Sin In The Canon.

Supposition All Our Lives Shall Be Stuck Full Of Eyes; For Treason Is But Trusted Like The Fox, Who, Ne'er So Tame, So Cherished And Locked Up, Will Have A Wild Trick Of His Ancestors.

They That Stand High Have Many Blasts To Shake Them.

For I Have Sworn Thee Fair, And Thought Thee Bright, Who Art As Black As Hell, As Dark As Night.

Ships Are But Boards, Sailors But Men.

Canst Thou, O Partial Sleep, Give Thy Repose To The Wet Sea-boy In An Hour So Rude, And In The Calmest And Most Stillest Night, With All Appliances And Means To Boot, Deny It To A King?

Things Base And Vile, Holding No Quantity, Love Can Transpose To Form And Dignity

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.

My Brain More Busy Than The Labouring Spider Weaves Tedious Snares To Trap Mine Enemies.

I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated To Closeness And The Bettering Of My Mind.

To Have Seen Much And To Have Nothing Is To Have Rich Eyes And Poor Hands.

Preposterous Ass, That Never Read So Far To Know The Cause Why Music Was Ordain'd! Was It Not To Refresh The Mind Of Man, After His Studies Or His Usual Pain?

Why, All Delights Are Vain; But That Most Vain, Which, With Pain Purchas'd, Doth Inherit Pain.

O, Thou Hast Damnable Iteration; And Art, Indeed, Able To Corrupt A Saint.

Demand Me Nothing: What You Know, You Know.

Patch Up Thine Old Body For Heaven.

I Am A Jew. Hath Not A Jew Eyes? Hath Not A Jew Hands, Organs, Dimensions, Senses, Affections, Passions?

Hast Any Philosophy In Thee Shepherd? .• • • • . . . He That Wants Money, Means And Content, Is Without Three Good Friends; That The Property Of Rain Is To Wet And Fire To Burn; That Good Pasture Makes Fat Sheep, And A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun; That He That Hath Learned No Wit By Nature Nor Art May Complain Of Good Breeding Or Comes Of A Very Dull Kindred.

So Wise So Young, They Say, Do Never Live Long.

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

Faults That Are Rich Are Fair.

'tis Brief, My Lord...as Woman's Love.

I Have Neither The Scholar's Melancholy, Which Is Emulation; Nor The Musician's, Which Is Fantastical; Nor The Courtier's, Which Is Proud; Not The Soldier's Which Is Ambitious; Nor The Lawyer's, Which Is Politic; Nor The Lady's, Which Is Nice; Nor The Lover's, Which Is All These: But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In A Most Humorous Sadness.

Why, What's The Matter, That You Have Such A February Face, So Full Of Frost, Of Storm And Cloudiness?

Of All The Flowers, Me Thinks A Rose Is Best.

We Will Have Rings And Things And Fine Array

Taming Of The Shrew

I Hold It Cowardice To Rest Mistrustful Where A Noble Heart Hath Pawned An Open Hand In Sign Of Love.

O Fortune, Fortune! All Men Call Thee Fickle.

What's His Offense? Groping For Trout In A Peculiar River.

Love Is Begun By Time And Time Qualifies The Spark And Fire Of It.

Wedding Anniversary

The Eagle Suffers Little Birds To Sing, And Is Not Careful What They Mean Thereby, Knowing That With The Shadow Of His Wings He Can At Pleasure Stint Their Melody: Even So Mayest Thou The Giddy Men Of Rome.

A Smile Cures The Wounding Of A Frown.

What, Gone Without A Word? Ay, So True Love Should Do; It Cannot Speak, For Truth Hath Better Deeds Than Words To Grace It.

Farewell! A Long Farewell To All My Greatness!

Each Present Joy Or Sorrow Seems The Chief.

There's Little Of The Melancholy Element In Her, My Lord: She Is Never Sad But When She Sleeps; And Not Ever Sad Then; For I Have Heard My Daughter Say, She Hath Often Dreamt Of Unhappiness, And Waked Herself With Laughing.

This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My Soul From Heaven.

But The Strong Base And Building Of My Love Is As The Very Centre Of The Earth, Drawing All Things To It.

Reflection Is The Business Of Man; A Sense Of His State Is His First Duty: But Who Remembereth Himself In Joy? Is It Not In Mercy Then That Sorrow Is Allotted Unto Us?

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

Liberty Plucks Justice By The Nose; The Baby Beats The Nurse, And Quite Athwart Goes All Decorum.

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!

Every Fair From Fair Sometime Declines

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.

Omittance Is No Quittance.

A High Hope For A Low Heaven: God Grant Us Patience!

Conscience Is A Thousand Swords.

Though Fortune's Malice Overthrow My State, My Mind Exceeds The Compass Of Her Wheel.

Now, My Masters, Happy Man Be His Dole, Say I; Every Man To His Business.

I Am A Kind Of Burr; I Shall Stick.

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown, And What Strength I Have's Mine Own, Which Is Most Faint: Now, 'tis True, Or Sent To Naples. Let Me Not, Since I Have My Dukedom Got And Pardon 'd The Deceiver, Dwell In This Bare Island By Your Spell; I Must Be Here Confined By You, But Release Me From My Bands With The Help Of Your Good Hands: Gentle Breath Of Yours My Sails Must Fill, Or Else My Project Fails, Which Was To Please: Now I Want Spirits To Enforce, Art To Enchant, And My Ending Is Despair, Unless I Be Relieved By Prayer, Which Pierces So, That It Assaults Mercy Itself, And Frees All Faults. As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.

Have Not Saints Lips, And Holy Palmers Too Ay, Pilgrim, Lips That They Must Use In Prayer.

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.

Report Of Fashions In Proud Italy Whose Manners Still Our Tardy-apish Nation Limps After In Base Imitation

I Have Thrust Myself Into This Maze, Haply To Wive And Thrive As Best I May.

Words, Vows, Gifts, Tears, And Love's Full Sacrifice, He Offers In Another's Enterprise; But More In Troilus Thousand-fold I See Than In The Glass Of Pandar's Praise May Be, Yet Hold I Off.

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

Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.

Tis Ever Common That Men Are Merriest When They Are From Home.

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

What Stronger Breastplate Than A Heart Untainted! Thrice Is He Arm'd, That Hath His Quarrel Just.

Be Merry; You Have Cause, So Have We All, Of Joy; For Our Escape Is Much Beyond Our Loss . . . . Then Wisely Weigh Our Sorrow With Our Comfort.

A Woman Moved Is Like A Fountain Troubled, Muddy, Ill-seeming, Thick, Bereft Of Beauty.

Thou Art As Wise As Thou Art Beautiful

Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp Sustaining.

If Fortune Torments Me, Hope Contents Me.

By That Sin Fell The Angels.

Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination, That, If It Would But Apprehend Some Joy, It Comprehends Some Bringer Of That Joy; Or In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

You Are Not Worth The Dust Which The Rude Wind Blows In Your Face.

Out, Out, Brief Candle! Life's But A Walking Shadow.

Futility Of Life

A Politician... One That Would Circumvent God.

Love Is Familiar. Love Is A Devil. There Is No Evil Angel But Love." -

Memory, The Warder Of The Brain.

This We Prescribe, Though No Physician; Deep Malice Makes Too Deep Incision; Forget, Forgive; Conclude And Be Agreed; Our Doctors Say This Is No Month To Bleed.

Experience Teacheth Us That Resolution 's A Sole Help At Need: And This, My Lord, Our Honour Teacheth Us, That We Be Bold In Every Enterprise: Then Since There Is No Way, But Fight Or Die, Be Resolute, My Lord, For Victory.

We Are Advertis'd By Our Loving Friends.

Lost Friendship

The Very Substance Of The Ambitious Is Merely The Shadow Of A Dream.

Either Our History Shall With Full Mouth Speak Freely Of Our Acts, Or Else Our Grave, Like Turkish Mute, Shall Have A Tongueless Mouth, Not Worshipped With A Waxen Epitaph.

Our Jovial Star Reigned At His Birth.

A Stirring Dwarf We Do Allowance Give Before A Sleeping Giant.

Man And Wife, Being Two, Are One In Love.

However Wickedness Outstrips Men, It Has No Wings To Fly From God.

You Abilities Are Too Infant-like For Doing Much Alone.

Is She Not Passing Fair?

Which Can Say More Than This Rich Praise, That You Alone Are You?

Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds

England, Bound In With The Triumphant Sea, Whose Rocky Shore Beats Back The Envious Siege Of Watery Neptune.

Come Now, What Masques, What Dances Shall We Have To Wear Away This Long Age Of Three Hours Between Our After-supper And Bedtime?

O, This Life Is Nobler Than Attending For A Check, Richer Than Doing Nothing For A Robe, Prouder Than Rustling In Unpaid-for Silk: Such Pain The Cap Of Him That Makes Him Fine Yet Keeps His Book Uncrossed.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension.

Measure For Measure

It Is Thyself, Mine Own Self's Better Part; Mine Eye's Clear Eye, My Dear Heart's Dearer Heart; My Food, My Fortune, And My Sweet Hope's Aim, My Sole Earth's Heaven, And My Heaven's Claim.

The Attempt And Not The Deed Confounds Us.

My Love's More Richer Than My Tongue.

How Long A Time Lies In One Little Word?

O War! Thou Son Of Hell!

Care I For The Limb, The Thews, The Stature, Bulk, And Big Assemblance Of A Man! Give Me The Spirit.

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

He Capers, He Dances, He Has Eyes Of Youth, He Writes Verses, He Speaks Holiday, He Smells April And May.

I Say, Without Characters, Fame Lives Long.

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