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What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made, That Millions Of Strange Shadows On You Tend? Since Everyone Hath Every One, One Shade, And You, But One, Can Every Shadow Lend. Describe Adonis, And The Counterfeit Is Poorly Imitated After You. On Helen’s Cheek All Art Of Beauty Set, And You In Grecian Tires Are Painted New. Speak Of The Spring And Foison Of The Year; The One Doth Shadow Of Your Beauty Show, The Other As Your Bounty Doth Appear, And You In Every Blessèd Shape We Know. In All External Grace You Have Some Part, But You Like None, None You, For Constant Heart.

-William Shakespeare

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What Is Your Substance,

William Shakespeare

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What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made, That Millions Of Strange Shadows On You Tend? Since Everyone Hath Every One, One Shade, And You, But One, Can Every Shadow Lend. Describe Adonis, And The Counterfeit Is Poorly Imitated After You. On Helen’s Cheek All Art Of Beauty Set, And You In Grecian Tires Are Painted New. Speak Of The Spring And Foison Of The Year; The One Doth Shadow Of Your Beauty Show, The Other As Your Bounty Doth Appear, And You In Every Blessèd Shape We Know. In All External Grace You Have Some Part, But You Like None, None You, For Constant Heart.

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Come What Sorrow Can, It Cannot Countervail The Exchange Of Joy, That One Short Minute Gives Me In Her Sight

I Pray You, Do Not Fall In Love With Me, For I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.

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.

We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On; And Our Little Life Is Rounded With A Sleep.

Thine Eyes I Love, And They As Pitying Me, Knowing Thy Heart Torment Me With Disdain, Have Put On Black, And Loving Mourners Be, Looking With Pretty Ruth Upon My Pain.

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

I 'gin To Be Aweary Of The Sun, And Wish Th' Estate O' Th' World Were Now Undone.

So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy

You, And Your Lady, Take From My Heart All Thankfulness!

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

Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In Praises.

Your "if" Is The Only Peacemaker; Much Virtue In "if.

I Have Not Slept One Wink.

O War! Thou Son Of Hell!

Tut, Man, One Fire Burns Out Another's Burning; One Pain Is Less'ned By Another's Anguish; Turn Giddy, And Be Holp By Backward Turning; One Desperate Grief Cures With Another's Languish.

I Should Think This A Gull, But That The White-bearded Fellow Speaks It; Knavery Cannot, Sure, Hide Himself In Such Reverence.

His Life Was Gentle; And The Elements So Mixed In Him, That Nature Might Stand Up And Say To All The World, This Was A Man!

Things Sweet To Taste Prove In Digestion Sour.

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.

Conceit In Weakest Bodies Works The Strongest.

Oh What Fools We Mortals Are.

Your Praises Will Become Your Wages.

Then Is Courtesy A Turncoat. But It Is Certain I Am Loved Of All Ladies, Only You Excepted: And I Would I Could Find In My Heart That I Had Not A Hard Heart; For, Truly, I Love None. Beatrice: A Dear Happiness To Women: They Would Else Have Been Troubled With A Pernicious Suitor. I Thank God And My Cold Blood, I Am Of Your Humour For That: I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow Than A Man Swear He Loves Me. -much Ado About Nothing

For There's No Motion That Tends To Vice In Man, But I Affirm It Is The Woman's Part.

Under The Colour Of Commending Him I Have Access My Own Love To Prefer; But Silvia Is Too Fair, Too True, Too Holy, To Be Corrupted With My Worthless Gifts.

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.

Cheerily To Sea; The Signs Of War Advance: No King Of England, If Not King Of France

Sweet Are The Uses Of Adversity

Roses Have Thorns, And Silver Fountains Mud; Clouds And Eclipses Stain Both Moon And Sun, And Loathsome Canker Lies In Sweetest Bud. All Men Make Faults.

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

Good Wine Needs No Bush.

Hanging And Wiving Goes By Destiny.

Merchant Of Venice

Thou Art A Boil, A Plague Sore, An Embossed Carbuncle In My Corrupted Blood.

Give Sorrow Words; The Grief That Does Not Speak Knits Up The O-er Wrought Heart And Bids It Break.

Young Adam Cupid, He That Shot So Trim, When King Cophetua Loved The Beggar-maid!

For Love, Thou Know'st, Is Full Of Jealousy

I Will Not Trust You, I, Nor Longer Stay In Your Curst Company. Your Hands Than Mine Are Quicker For A Fray, My Legs Are Longer Though, To Run Away.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

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

An Old Black Ram Is Tupping Your White Ewe

What Should A Man Do But Be Merry? For Look You How Cheerfully My Mother Looks, And My Father Died Within's Two Hours.

O Fortune, Fortune! All Men Call Thee Fickle.

But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

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

He Is White-livered And Red-faced.

A Peevish Self-willed Harlotry It Is. *she’s A Stubborn Little Brat.*

A Smile Cures The Wounding Of A Frown.

When I Waked, I Cried To Dream Again

Being Of No Power To Make His Wishes Good: His Promises Fly So Beyond His State That What He Speaks Is All In Debt; He Owes For Every Word.

Unsubstantial Death Is Amorous.

In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

In Me Thou See'st The Twilight Of Such Day As After Sunset Fadeth In The West, Which By And By Black Night Doth Take Away Death's Second Self, That Seals Up All In Rest. -sonnet 73

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.

Divers Philosophers Hold That The Lips Is Parcel Of The Mouth.

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight; Which Therein Works A Miracle In Nature, Making Them Lightest That Wear Most Of It: So Are Those Crisped Snaky Golden Locks Which Make Such Wanton Gambols With The Wind Upon Supposed Fairness, Often Known To Be The Dowry Of A Second Head, The Skull That Bred Them In The Sepulchre.

Were I The Moor I Would Not Be Iago. In Following Him I Follow But Myself; Heaven Is My Judge, Not I For Love And Duty, But Seeming So For My Peculiar End. For When My Outward Action Doth Demonstrate The Native Act And Figure Of My Heart In Compliment Extern, ’tis Not Long After But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At. I Am Not What I Am

Bid Me Discourse, I Will Enchant Thine Ear

I See A Man's Life Is A Tedious One.

Small Cheer And Great Welcome Makes A Merry Feast.

T'is True: There's Magic In The Web Of It.

Mean And Mighty, Rotting Together, Have One Dust.

We That Are True Lovers Run Into Strange Capers; But As All Is Mortal In Nature, So Is All Nature In Love Mortal In Folly.

None Can Cure Their Harms By Wailing Them.

But, Indeed, Words Are Very Rascals, Since Bonds [vows] Disgraced Them." Viola: "thy Reason, Man?" Feste: "troth [truthfully], Sir, I Can Yield You None Without Words, And Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loathe To Prove Reason With Them.

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.

Sweets Grown Common Lose Their Dear Delight.

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

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.

The Tempter Or The Tempted, Who Sins Most? Ha! Not She: Nor Doth She Tempt: But It Is I That, Lying By The Violet In The Sun, Do As The Carrion Does, Not As The Flower, Corrupt With Virtuous Season.

How Easy It Is For The Proper-false In Woman's Waxen Hearts To Set Their Forms!

Here, Thou Incestuous, Murderous, Damned Dane, Drink Off This Potion!

Can We Outrun The Heavens?

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.

A Plague Of Sighing And Grief! It Blows A Man Up Like A Bladder.

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

Give Me A Bowl Of Wine, In This I Bury All Unkindness.

Muster Your Wits; Stand In Your Own Defence.

Adversity's Sweet Milk, Philosophy.

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

Few Love To Hear The Sins They Love To Act.

A Goodly Portly Man, I' Faith, And A Corpulent; Of A Cheerful Look, A Pleasing Eye, And A Most Noble Carriage; And, As I Think, His Age Some Fifty, Or, By'r Lady, Inclining To Threescore; And Now I Remember Me, His Name Is Falstaff.

In Thy Foul Throat Thou Liest.

Pause Awhile, And Let My Counsel Sway You.

Good Hay, Sweet Hay, Hath No Fellow.

It Is The Purpose That Makes Strong The Vow; But Vows To Every Purpose Must Not Hold.

Wisely Weigh Our Sorrow With Our Comfort.

It Is Great To Do That Thing That Ends All Other Deeds, Which Shackles Accidents And Bolts Up Change.

A Time, Methinks, Too Short To Make A World-without-end Bargain In.

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

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes.

Poor Desdemona! I Am Glad Thy Father's Dead. Thy Match Was Mortal To Him, And Pure Grief Shore His Old Thread In Twain.

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.

Scratching Could Not Make It Worse, An't Were Such A Face As Yours Were.

Guiltiness Will Speak, Though Tongues Were Out Of Use

Whats Here A Cup Closed In My True Loves Hand Poisin I See Hath Been His Timeless End. Oh Churl Drunk All And Left No Friendly Drop To Help Me After. I Will Kiss Thy Lips Some Poisin Doth Hang On Them, To Help Me Die With A Restorative. Thy Lips Are Warm. Yea Noise Then Ill Be Brief Oh Happy Dagger This Is Thy Sheath. There Rust And Let Me Die.

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.

You Draw Me, You Hard-hearted Adamant; But Yet You Draw Not Iron, For My Heart Is True As Steel: Leave You Your Power To Draw, And I Shall Have No Power To Follow You.

Patch Up Thine Old Body For Heaven.

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!

A Miracle. Here's Our Own Hands Against Our Hearts. Come, I Will Have Thee, But By This Light I Take Thee For Pity. Beatrice: I Would Not Deny You, But By This Good Day, I Yield Upon Great Persuasion, And Partly To Save Your Life, For I Was Told You Were In A Consumption. Benedick: Peace. I Will Stop Your Mouth.

You Are An Alchemist; Make Gold Of That.

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

... And Death Unloads Thee.

What Else May Hap, To Time I Will Commit.

If You Have Tears, Prepare To Shed Them Now.

He That Wants Money, Means, And Content Is Without Three Good Friends.

Alas, Sir, How Fell You Besides Your Five Wits?" Malvolio: "fool, There Was Never A Man So Notoriously Abused. I Am As Well In My Wits, Fool, As Thou Art." Feste: "but As Well? Then You Are Mad Indeed, If You Be No Better In You Wits Than A Fool.

He That Hath The Steerage Of My Course, Direct My Sail.

The Quality Of Nothing Hath Not Such Need To Hide Itself

The Expedition Of My Violent Love Outrun The Pauser, Reason.

She Dreams Of Him That Has Forgot Her Love; You Dote On Her That Cares Not For Your Love. 'tis Pity Love Should Be So Contrary; And Thinking Of It Makes Me Cry 'alas!

In Scorn Of Nature, Art Gave Lifeless Life.

Forget, Forgive; Conclude, And Be Agreed.

They Are Hare-brain'd Slaves.

These Blessed Candles Of The Night.

Merchant Of Venice

An Honest Man, Sir, Is Able To Speak For Himself, When A Knave Is Not.

Trip Over Love, You Can Get Up. Fall In Love And You Fall Forever. Anyone Can Catch Your Eye, But It Takes Someone Special To Catch Your Heart. Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

Falling In Love

Pray You Now, Forget And Forgive.

Forgive And Forget

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

Since Brass, Nor Stone, Nor Earth, Nor Boundless Sea, But Bad Mortality O'ersways Their Power, How With This Rage Shall Beauty Hold A Plea, Whose Action Is No Stronger Than A Flower?

On A Day - Alack The Day! - Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair Playing In The Wanton Air

Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's A Good Wench For This Gear.

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.

Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date.

Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King Keeps Death His Court.

We Are Oft To Blame In This, - 'tis Too Much Proved, - That With Devotion's Visage, And Pios Action We Do Sugar O'er The Devil Himself.

Many Strokes, Though With A Little Axe, Hew Down And Fell The Hardest-timber'd Oak.

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

Denmark In Hamlet

Hamlet And Ophelia

I Must Have Liberty Withal, As Large A Charter As The Wind, To Blow On Whom I Please, For So Fools Have.

What's Done Can't Be Undone.

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

Full Fathom Five Thy Father Lies; Of His Bones Are Coral Made; Those Are Pearls That Were His Eyes; Nothing Of Him That Doth Fade, But Doth Suffer A Sea-change Into Something Rich And Strange. Sea-nymphs Hourly Ring His Knell: Ding-dong. Hark! Now I Hear Them — Ding-dong, Bell.

This Day I Breathed First: Time Is Come Round, And Where I Did Begin There Shall I End; My Life Is Run His Compass.

This Blessed Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England.

Precious Stones

Paradise On Earth

Shall I Never See A Bachelor Of Three Score Again?

The Daintiest Last, To Make The End Most Sweet.

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy That It Alone Is High Fantastical.

Twelfth Night Important

Time Travels In Divers Paces With Divers Persons. I'll Tell You Who Time Ambles Withal, Who Time Trots Withal, Who Time Gallops Withal, And Who He Stands Still Withal.

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.

The Fool Multitude, That Choose By Show, Not Learning More Than The Fond Eye Doth Teach.

Nothing Comes Amiss, So Money Comes Withal.

Taming Of The Shrew

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

Time And The Hour Run Through The Roughest Day.

Time Management

Romeo To Balthasar But If Thou, Jealous, Dost Return To Pry In What I Further Shall Intend To Do, By Heaven, I Will Tear Thee Joint By Joint And Strew This Hungry Churchyard With Thy Limbs: The Time And My Intents Are Savage-wild, More Fierce And More Inexorable Far Than Empty Tigers Or The Roaring Sea.

I Am Not Only Witty In Myself, But The Cause That Wit Is In Other Men.

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

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.

Affection, Mistress Of Passion, Sways It To The Mood Of What It Likes Or Loathes.

For Where Thou Art, There Is The World Itself, With Every Several Pleasure In The World, And Where Thou Art Not, Desolation.

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.

All His Successors Gone Before Him Have Done 't; And All His Ancestors That Come After Him May.

When Clouds Are Seen Wise Men Put On Their Cloaks; When Great Leaves Fall Then Winter Is At Hand.

Every Man Has His Fault, And Honesty Is His.

For There Was Never Yet Philosoper That Could Endure The Toothache Patiently, However They Have Writ The Style Of Gods, And Made A Push At Chance And Sufferance.

All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told.

Fie, Fie, How Frantically I Square My Talk!

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.

The Will Is Deaf And Hears No Heedful Friends.

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

A Man Cannot Make Him Laugh; But That's No Marvel; He Drinks No Wine.... If I Had A Thousand Sons, The First Human Principle I Would Teach Them Should Be, To Forswear Thin Potations And To Addict Themselves To Sack.

I Can Call Spirits From The Vasty Deep.

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

But Jealous Souls Will Not Be Answered So, They Are Not Ever Jealous For The Cause, But Jealous For They're Jealous. 'tis A Monster Begot Upon Itself, Born On Itself.

That Is Honor's Scorn Which Challenges Itself As Honor's Born And Is Not Like The Sire. Honors Thrive When Rather From Our Acts We Them Derive Than Our Foregoers.

Quote: What Angel Wakes Me From My Flowery Bed?

This Feather Stirs; She Lives! If It Be So, It Is A Chance Which Does Redeem All Sorrows That Ever I Have Felt.

Give Thanks For What You Are Today And Go On Fighting For What You Gone Be Tomorrow

When That The Poor Have Cried, Caesar Hath Wept: Ambition Should Be Made Of Sterner Stuff: Yet Brutus Says He Was Ambitious; And Brutus Is An Honourable Man.

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.

What, My Dear Lady Disdain! Are You Yet Living? Beatrice: Is It Possible Disdain Should Die While She Hath Such Meet Food To Feed It As Signior Benedick?

O Heaven! That One Might Read The Book Of Fate, And See The Revolution Of The Times.

Educated Men Are So Impressive.

Such Men As He Be Never At Heart's Ease Whiles They Behold A Greater Than Themselves, And Therefore Are They Very Dangerous.

Death, As The Psalmist Saith, Is Certain To All, All Shall Die.

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.

Do Not Cast Away An Honest Man For A Villain's Accusation.

He That Is Truly Dedicated To War Hath No Self-love

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

Against Love's Fire Fear`s Frost Hath Dissolution

It Is The Stars, The Stars Above Us, Govern Our Conditions.

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.

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.

Care Keeps His Watch In Every Old Man’s Eye, And Where Care Lodges, Sleep Will Never Lie.

Determine On Some Course More Than A Wild Exposure To Each Chance.

Lovers Ever Run Before The Clock

Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May.

The Law Hath Not Been Dead, Though It Hath Slept.

Measure For Measure

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

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book!

Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp Sustaining.

No Doubt They Rose Up Early To Observe The Rite Of May; And, Hearing Our Intent, Came Here In Grace Of Our Solemnity.

Virtue Is Beauty, But The Beauteous Evil. Are Empty Trunks O'erflourished By The Devil.

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

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty.

Of All The Fair Resort Of Gentlemen That Every Day With Parle Encounter Me, In Thy Opinion Which Is Worthiest Love?

One Good Deed Dying Tongueless Slaughters A Thousand Waiting Upon That. Our Praises Are Our Wages.

If We Are Mark'd To Die, We Are Enow To Do Our Country Loss; And If To Live, The Fewer Men, The Greater Share Of Honour. God's Will! I Pray Thee; Wish Not One Man More.

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

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