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Well, In That Hit You Miss. She'll Not Be Hit With Cupid's Arrow. She Hath Dian's Wit, And, In Strong Proff Of Chastity Well Armed, From Love's Weak Childish Bow She Lives Uncharmed. She Will Not Stay The Siege Of Loving Terms, Nor Bide Th' Encounter Of Assailing Eyes, Nor Ope Her Lap To Saint-seducing Gold. O, She Is Rich In Beauty; Only Poor That, When She Dies, With Dies Her Store. Act 1,scene 1, Lines 180-197

-William Shakespeare

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Well, In That Hit

William Shakespeare

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Well, In That Hit You Miss. She'll Not Be Hit With Cupid's Arrow. She Hath Dian's Wit, And, In Strong Proff Of Chastity Well Armed, From Love's Weak Childish Bow She Lives Uncharmed. She Will Not Stay The Siege Of Loving Terms, Nor Bide Th' Encounter Of Assailing Eyes, Nor Ope Her Lap To Saint-seducing Gold. O, She Is Rich In Beauty; Only Poor That, When She Dies, With Dies Her Store. Act 1,scene 1, Lines 180-197

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I Have Heard Of Your Paintings Too, Well Enough; God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourselves Another: You Jig, You Amble, And You Lisp, And Nick-name God's Creatures, And Make Your Wantonness Your Ignorance. Go To, I'll No More On't; It Hath Made Me Mad.

Should The Poor Be Flattered? No; Let The Candied Tongue Lick Absurd Pomp, And Crook The Pregnant Hinges Of The Knee Where Thrift May Follow Fawning.

When My Love Swears That She Is Made Of Truth, I Do Believe Her, Though I Know She Lies.

Better Conquest Never Canst Thou Make Than Arm Thy Constant And Thy Nobler Parts Against Giddy, Loose Suggestions.

If I Were A Woman I Would Kiss As Many Of You As Had Beards That Pleased Me, Complexions That Liked Me And Breaths That I Defied Not

Yet, Do Thy Worst, Old Time; Despite Thy Wrong, My Love Shall In My Verse Ever Live Young.

I Do Desire We May Be Better Strangers.

To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth.

Me, Poor Man, My Library Was Dukedom Large Enough.

Those, That With Haste Will Make A Mighty Fire, Begin It With Weak Straws.

Beauty Is But A Vain And Doubtful Good; A Shining Gloss That Fadeth Suddenly; A Flower That Dies When It Begins To Bud; A Doubtful Good, A Gloss, A Glass, A Flower, Lost, Faded, Broken, Dead Within An Hour.

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.

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, For As You Were When First Your Eye I Eyed, Such Seems Your Beauty Still. Three Winters Cold Have From The Forests Shook Three Summers' Pride, Three Beauteous Springs To Yellow Autumn Turn'd In Process Of The Seasons Have I Seen, Three April Perfumes In Three Hot Junes Burn'd, Since First I Saw You Fresh, Which Yet Are Green.

And Thence From Athens Turn Away Our Eyes To Seek New Friends And Stranger Companies.

One Pain Is Cured By Another. Catch Some New Infection In Your Eye And The Poison Of The Old One Would Die.

You Know That I Do Fawn On Men, And Hug Them Hard, And After Scandal Them.

As You Are Old And Reverend, You Should Be Wise.

To Fear The Foe, Since Fear Oppresseth Strength, Gives In Your Weakness Strength Unto Your Foe.

But Fish Not With This Melancholy Bait For This Fool Gudgeon, This Opinion.

Good Wine Is A Good Familiar Creature If It Be Well Used.

How Lush And Lusty The Grass Looks! How Green!

More Can I Bear Than You Dare Execute.

Old Fashions Please Me Best; I Am Not So Nice To Change True Rules For Odd Inventions.

I Will Despair, And Be At Enmity With Cozening Hope.

There's A Time For All Things.

The Voice Of Parents Is The Voice Of Gods, For To Their Children They Are Heaven's Lieutenants.

Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.

The Big Round Tears Cours'd One Another Down His Innocent Nose, In Piteous Chase.

This Is A Way To Kill A Wife With Kindness.

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

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus, Or Thus.

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.

Come, Woo Me, Woo Me, For Now I Am In A Holiday Humor, And Like Enough To Consent.

O England! Model To Thy Inward Greatness, Like Little Body With A Might Heart.

Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds Are Messengers Of Day.

It Is The Disease Of Not Listening...... That I Am Troubled With.

So, You Are Very Welcome To Our House. It Must Appear In Other Ways Than Words, Therefore, I Scant This Breathing Courtesy.

Be Cheerful; Wipe Thine Eyes: Some Falls Are Means The Happier To Arise

The Pleasing Punishment That Women Bear.

I Am Disgraced, Impeached, And Baffled Here, Pierced To The Soul With Slander's Venomed Spear.

If They Love They Know Not Why, They Hate Upon No Better Ground, They Hate Upon No Better A Ground

Wisely, And Slow. They Stumble That Run Fast.

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.

O Most Delicate Fiend! Who Is't Can Read A Woman? Is There More?

Every True Man's Apparel Fits Your Thief.

O! That A Man Might Know The End Of This Day's Business, Ere It Come; But It Sufficeth That The Day Will End, And Then The End Is Known.

The Wildest Hath Not Such A Heart As You. Run When You Will, The Story Shall Be Changed: Apollo Flies, And Daphne Holds The Chase; The Dove Pursues The Griffin; The Mild Hind Makes Speed To Catch The Tiger; Bootless Speed, When Cowardice Pursues And Valour Flies.

She Is A Woman, Therefore To Be Won.

I Swear Again, I Would Not Be A Queen For All The World.

Hang Those That Talk Of Fear.

Never Shame To Hear What You Have Nobly Done

Too Much Of Water Hast Thou, Poor Ophelia, And Therefore I Forbid My Tears.

Hamlet And Ophelia

Take You Me For A Sponge?

How Long A Time Lies In One Little Word?

There's Beggary In Love That Can Be Reckoned

These Blessed Candles Of The Night.

Merchant Of Venice

True Hope Is Swift, And Flies With Swallow's Wings.

We Know What We Are, But Know Not What We May Be.

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.'

Being Daily Swallowed By Men's Eyes, They Surfeited With Honey And Began To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof A Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much. So, When He Had Occasion To Be Seen, He Was But As The Cuckoo Is In June. Heard, Not Regarded.

He That Commends Me To Mine Own Content Commends Me To The Thing I Cannot Get. I To The World Am Like A Drop Of Water That In The Ocean Seeks Another Drop, Who, Falling There To Find His Fellow Forth, Unseen, Inquisitive, Confounds Himself: So I, To Find A Mother And A Brother, In Quest Of Them, Unhappy, Lose Myself.

Vile Worm, Thou Wast O'erlook'd Even In Thy Birth.

If [god] Send Me No Husband, For The Which Blessing I Am At Him Upon My Knees Every Morning And Evening.

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

Should All Despair That Have Revolted Wives, The Tenth Of Mankind Would Hang Themselves.

Knavery's Plain Face Is Never Seen Till Used.

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

A Violet In The Youth Of Primy Nature, Forward, Not Permanent--sweet, Not Lasting; The Perfume And Suppliance Of A Minute; No More.

Hamlet And Ophelia

I Am Afeard There Are Few Die Well That Die In Battle, For How Can They Charitably Dispose Of Anything When Blood Is Their Argument?

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

That Truth Should Be Silent I Had Almost Forgot. (enobarbus)

In Right And Service To Their Noble Country.

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbl'd Shore, So Do Our Minutes, Hasten To Their End.

He Is Deformed, Crooked, Old And Sere, Ill-faced, Worse Bodied, Shapeless Everywhere; Vicious, Ungentle, Foolish, Blunt, Unkind; Stigmatical In Making, Worse In Mind.

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.

Passion Lends Them Power, Time Means To Meet, Tempering Extremities With Extremes Sweet.

We Make Guilty Of Our Disasters The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars; As If We Were Villians By Compulsion.

Sometimes, Less Is More.

What Is Honour? A Word. What Is In That Word Honour? What Is That Honour? Air. A Trim Reckoning! Who Hath It? He That Died O' Wednesday. Doth He Feel It? No. Doth He Hear It? No.

In A False Quarrel There Is No True Valor.

I Love Thee So, That, Maugre All Thy Pride, Nor Wit Nor Reason Can My Passion Hide. Do Not Extort Thy Reasons From This Clause, For That I Woo, Thou Therefore Hast No Cause But Rather Reason Thus With Reason Fetter, Love Sought Is Good, But Given Unsought Better.

The Whirligig Of Time Brings In His Revenges.

They Love Least That Let Men Know Their Loves.

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

Winding Up Days With Toil And Nights With Sleep.

Let Me Have War, Say I; It Exceeds Peace As Far As Day Does Night; It's Spritely, Waking, Audible, And Full Of Vent.

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian Or An Ordinary Man Has; But I Am A Great Eater Of Beef, And I Believe That Does Harm To My Wit.

Love Reasons Without Reason.

Make Passionate My Sense Of Hearing.

Love's Mind Of Judgment Rarely Hath A Taste: Wings And No Eyes Figure Unheedy Haste.

Hang Him, Swaggering Rascal!

I Can Give The Loser Leave To Chide.

Nature's Tears Are Reason's Merriment.

The Southern Wind Doth Play The Trumpet To His Purposes; And, By His Hollow Whistling In The Leaves, Foretells A Tempest And A Blustering Day.

Gloucester: I Do Not Know That Englishman Alive With Whom My Soul Is Any Jot At Odds, More Than The Infant That Is Born To-night: I Thank My God For My Humility.

My Story Starts At Sea... A Perilous Voyage To An Unknown Land... A Shipwreck... The Wild Waters Roar And Heave... The Brave Vessel Is Dashed All To Pieces, And All The Helpless Souls Within Her Drowned... All Save One... A Lady... Whose Soul Is Greater Than The Ocean... And Her Spirit Stronger Than The Sea's Embrace... Not For Her A Watery End, But A New Life Beginning On A Stranger Shore. It Will Be A Love Story... For She Will Be My Heroine For All Time. And Her Name Will Be... Viola.

For Where Is Any Author In The World Teaches Such Beauty As A Woman's Eye?

He Hath Not Eat Paper, As It Were; He Hath Not Drunk Ink; His Intellect Is Not Replenished; He Is Only An Animal, Only Sensible In The Duller Parts. (shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, Iv)

Is This A Vision? Is This A Dream? Do I Sleep?

Why, What Should Be The Fear? I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee.

Denmark In Hamlet

Hamlet And Ophelia

The One I Love Is The Son Of The One I Hate! -juliet P. 75

To Persist In Doing Wrong Extenuates Not The Wrong, But Makes It Much More Heavy.

Yet Nor The Lays Of Birds Nor The Sweet Smell Of Different Flowers In Odour And In Hue Could Make Me Any Summer's Story Tell, Or From Their Proud Lap Pluck Them Where They Grew; Nor Did I Wonder At The Lily's White, Nor Praise The Deep Vermilion In The Rose; They Were But Sweet, But Figures Of Delight, Drawn After You, You Pattern Of All Those.

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

O God Of Battles! Steel My Soldiers’ Hearts. Possess Them Not With Fear.

Nice Customs Curtsy To Great Kings.

We Are Not Ourselves When Nature, Being Oppressed, Commands The Mind To Suffer With The Body.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

Merchant Of Venice

Many That Are Not Mad Have, Sure, More Lack Of Reason.

I Do Know When The Blood Burns, How Prodigal The Soul Lends The Tongue Vows.

A Very Ancient And Fish-like Smell.

Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures

Desperate Measures

Desperate Times

Though Inclination Be As Sharp As Will, My Stronger Guilt Defeats My Strong Intent, And, Like A Man To Double Business Bound, I Stand In Pause Where I Shall First Begin, And Both Neglect.

My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me

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

Thou Hast The Most Unsavoury Similes.

I'll Go Find A Shadow, And Sigh Till He Come" (phebe)

To Some Kind Of Men Their Graces Serve Them But As Enemies.

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

Stars Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires: The Eyes Wink At The Hand; Yet Let That Be Which The Eye Fears, When It Is Done, To See

Coward Dogs Most Spend Their Mouths When What They Seem To Threaten Runs Far Before Them.

Policy Sits Above Conscience.

I Hate Ingratitude More In A Man Than Lying, Vainness, Babbling, Drunkenness, Or Any Taint Of Vice Whose Strong Corruption Inhabits Our Frail Blood".

Let Me Be Ignorant, And In Nothing Good, But Graciously To Know I Am No Better.

Your Face Is A Book, Where Men May Read Strange Matters.

We May Outrun By Violent Swiftness And Lose By Over-running.

For A Noble Heart, The Most Precious Gift Becomes Poor, When The Giver Stops Loving.

He Hath Disgrac'd Me And Hind'red Me Half A Million; Laugh'd At My Losses, Mock'd At My Gains, Scorned My Nation, Thwarted My Bargains, Cooled My Friends, Heated My Enemies. And What's His Reason? I Am A Jew.

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 The Most Humorous Sadness.

Time Is The Nurse And Breeder Of All Good.

The Fashion Of The World Is To Avoid Cost, And You Encounter It.

Her Blood Is Settled, And Her Joints Are Stiff; Life And These Lips Have Long Been Separated: Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost Upon The Sweetest Flower Of All The Field.

Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself.

Discuss Unto Me: Art Thou Officer, Or Art Thou Base, Common, And Popular?

One May Smile, And Smile, And Be A Villain.

Hamlet And Ophelia

What Is Past Is Prologue.

O Coward Conscience, How Dost Thou Afflict Me!

Lovers Ever Run Before The Clock

It Is As Easy To Count Atomies As To Resolve The Propositions Of A Lover.

Romeo There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murders In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell. I Sell Thee Poison; Thou Hast Sold Me None. Farewell: Buy Food, And Get Thyself In Flesh. Come, Cordial And Not Poison, Go With Me To Juliet's Grave; For There Must I Use Thee.

One Sin, I Know, Another Doth Provoke. Murder's As Near To Lust As Flame To Smoke.

What Is Thy Sentence Then But Speechless Death.

Night's Candles Have Burned Out, And Jocund Day Stands Tiptoe On The Misty Mountaintops." Hope Tinged With Melancholy - Like Life.

The Old Folk, Time's Doting Chronicles.

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.

Ay Me! For Aught That Ever I Could Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.

As Love Is Full Of Unbefitting Strains, All Wanton As A Child, Skipping And Vain, Form'd By The Eye And Therefore, Like The Eye, Full Of Strange Shapes, Of Habits And Of Forms, Varying In Subjects As The Eye Doth Roll To Every Varied Object In His Glance

So Foul And Fair A Day I Have Not Seen.

Important Macbeth

Darkness In Macbeth

If I For My Opinion Bleed, Opinion Shall Be Surgeon To My Hurt, And Keep Me On The Side Where Still I Am.

But Yet I'll Make Assurance Double Sure, And Take A Bond Of Fate: Thou Shalt Not Live.

O, Let Me Kiss That Hand! King Lear: Let Me Wipe It First; It Smells Of Mortality.

I'll Look To Like; If Looking, Liking Move.

And Do So, Love, Yet When They Have Devised What Strainèd Touches Rhetoric Can Lend, Thou, Truly Fair, Wert Truly Sympathized In True Plain Words By Thy True-telling Friend; And Their Gross Painting Might Be Better Used Where Cheeks Need Blood; In Thee It Is Abused.

I Heard A Bird So Sing, Whose Music, To My Thinking, Pleased The King.

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory, This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O'erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire, Why, It Appears No Other Thing To Me Than A Foul And Pestilent Congregation Of Vapours. What A Piece Of Work Is A Man! How Noble In Reason! How Infinite In Faculty! In Form And Moving How Express And Admirable! In Action How Like An Angel! In Apprehension How Like A God! The Beauty Of The World! The Paragon Of Animals! And Yet, To Me, What Is This Quintessence Of Dust?

Lend Less Than You Owe.

For Man Is A Giddy Thing, And This Is My Conclusion.

The Latter End Of A Fray, And The Beginning Of A Feast, Fits A Dull Fighter, And A Keen Guest.

Sir, He's A Good Dog, And A Fair Dog.

And Sleep, That Sometime Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye, Steal Me Awhile From Mine Own Company.

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

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

Like Madness, Is The Glory Of This Life.

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

Can I Go Forward When My Heart Is Here? Turn Back, Dull Earth, And Find Thy Centre Out.

Absence From Those We Love Is Self From Self - A Deadly Banishment.

If It Be A Sin To Covet Honor, I Am The Most Offending Soul.

Give Me A Bowl Of Wine. I Have Not That Alacrity Of Spirit Nor Cheer Of Mind That I Was Wont To Have.

They Have Been Grand-jurymen Since Before Noah Was A Sailor

Take But Degree Away, Untune That String, And Hark, What Discord Follows!

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

Excellent Wretch! Perdition Catch My Soul But I Do Love Thee! And When I Love Thee Not, Chaos Is Come Again.

Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me No Uncle; I Am No Traitor's Uncle, And That Word "grace" In An Ungracious Mouth Is But Profane.

Present Mirth Hath Present Laughter. What's To Come Is Still Unsure.

I Will Speak Daggers To Her, But Use None.

Hamlet And Ophelia

I Do Know Of These That Therefore Only Are Reputed Wise For Saying Nothing.

Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are Not Steered.

Jaques: Rosalind Is Your Love's Name? Orlando: Yes, Just. Jaques: I Do Not Like Her Name. Orlando: There Was No Thought Of Pleasing You When She Was Christened.

In Struggling With Misfortunes Lies The True Proof Of Virtue.

Why, This Hath Not A Finger's Dignity.

Good Morrow, Fair Ones; Pray You, If You Know, Where In The Purlieus Of This Forest Stands A Sheep-cote Fenc'd About With Olive Trees?

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

This Thought Is As A Death.

He Was Ever Precise In Promise-keeping.

Promises That Are Broken

But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

As Merry As The Day Is Long.

Crowns Have Their Compass-length Of Days Their Date- Triumphs Their Tomb-felicity, Her Fate- Of Nought But Earth Can Earth Make Us Partaker, But Knowledge Makes A King Most Like His Maker.

There Was Never Yet Fair Woman But She Made Mouths In A Glass.

O! For A Muse Of Fire, That Would Ascend The Brightest Heaven Of Invention.

Beauty's A Doubtful Good, A Glass, A Flower, Lost, Faded, Broken, Dead Within An Hour; And Beauty, Blemish'd Once, For Ever's Lost, In Spite Of Physic, Painting, Pain, And Cost.

Time Is The Old Justice That Examines All Such Offenders, And Let Time Try.

Go, Bid The Soldiers Shoot.

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

I'll Never Be Such A Gosling To Obey Instinct, But Stand As Is A Man Were Author Of Himself And Knew No Other Kin.

He That Hath A Beard Is More Than A Youth, And He That Hath No Beard Is Less Than A Man. He That Is More Than A Youth Is Not For Me, And He That Is Less Than A Man, I Am Not For Him.

The Seeming Truth Which Cunning Times Put On To Entrap The Wisest.

I Had Rather Have A Fool To Make Me Merry Than Experience To Make Me Sad And To Travel For It Too!

I May Chance Have Some Odd Quirks And Remnants Of Wit Broken On Me, Because I Have Railed So Long Against Marriage: But Doth Not The Appetite Alter? A Man Loves The Meat In His Youth That He Cannot Endure In His Age. Shall Quips And Sentences And These Paper Bullets Of The Brain Awe A Man From The Career Of His Humour? No, The World Must Be Peopled. When I Said I Would Die A Bachelor, I Did Not Think I Should Live Till I Were Married.

One Touch Of Nature Makes The Whole World Kin.

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