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When Devils Will The Blackest Sins Put On They Do Suggest At First With Heavenly Shows

-William Shakespeare

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When Devils Will The

William Shakespeare

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When Devils Will The Blackest Sins Put On They Do Suggest At First With Heavenly Shows

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Hardness Ever Of Hardness Is Mother.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure; But Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise, The Tent That Searches To Th' Bottom Of The Worst.

Dost Thou Think, Because Thou Art Virtuous, There Shall Be No More Cakes And Ale?

Full Oft We See Cold Wisdom Waiting On Superfluous Folly.

He That Sleeps Feels Not The Tooth-ache

It Is War's Prize To Take All Vantages; And Ten To One Is No Impeach Of Valor.

Boldness Be My Friend.

That But This Blow Might Be The Be-all And The End-all Here, But Here, Upon This Bank And Shoal Of Time, We'ld Jump The Life To Come.

A Merry Heart Goes All The Way, - A Sad One Tires Inan Hour.

Famous Inspirational

Have I Thought Long To See This Morning’s Face, And Doth It Give Me Such A Sight As This?

My Friends Were Poor, But Honest, So's My Love.

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

Fair Is Foul, And Foul Is Fair, Hover Through Fog And Filthy Air.

The Blood Weeps From My Heart When I Do Shape, In Forms Imaginary, Th' Unguided Days And Rotten Times That You Shall Look Upon When I Am Sleeping With My Ancestors.

Thou Frothy Tickle-brained Hedge-pig!

He That Is Thy Friend Indeed, He Will Help You In Your Need.

'tis Dangerous To Take A Cold, To Sleep, To Drink; But I Tell You, My Lord Fool, Out Of This Nettle, Danger, We Pluck This Flower, Safety.

Your Cause Of Sorrow Must Not Be Measured By His Worth, For Then It Hath No End.

O Powerful Love, That In Some Respects Makes A Beast A Man, In Some Other, A Man A Beast.

So Are You To My Thoughts As Food To Life, Or As Sweet Seasoned Showers Are To The Ground.

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.

Nature's Tears Are Reason's Merriment.

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.

Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield, Day, To Night!

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

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

You Are An Alchemist; Make Gold Of That.

And When I Am Forgotten, As I Shall Be, And Asleep In Dull Cold Marble, Where No Mention Of Me Must Be Heard Of, Say, I Taught Thee.

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

This Passion, And The Death Of A Dear Friend, Would Go Near To Make A Man Look Sad.

Death Of A Friend

O, When She's Angry, She Is Keen And Shrewd! She Was A Vixen When She Went To School; And Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce.

The Old Folk, Time's Doting Chronicles.

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

Let Us Not Burden Our Remembrances With A Heaviness That's Gone.

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.

A Horse, A Horse, My Kingdom For A Horse!

When Once Our Grace We Have Forgot, Nothing Goes Right.

Measure For Measure

Though Those That Are Betray'd Do Feel The Treason Sharply, Yet The Traitor Stands In Worse Case Of Woe

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

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

'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile Esteemed, When Not To Be, Receives Reproach Of Being, And The Just Pleasure Lost, Which Is So Deemed, Not By Our Feeling, But By Others' Seeing.

All The World Is A Stage And We Are Merely Players.

Jesu, Jesu, The Mad Days That I Have Spent! And To See How Many Of My Old Acquaintance Are Dead!

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

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

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

The Pleasant'st Angling Is To See The Fish Cut With Her Golden Oars The Silver Stream And Greedily Devour The Treacherous Bait.

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

A Devil, A Born Devil On Whose Nature, Nurture Can Never Stick, On Whom My Pain, Humanly Taken, All Lost, Quite Lost.

Though This Be Madness, Yet There Is Method In't.

He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not Forget The Precious Treasure Of His Eyesight Lost.

Your Bait Of Falsehood Takes This Carp Of Truth, And Thus Do We Of Wisdom And Of Reach, With Windlasses And With Assays Of Bias, By Indirections Find Directions Out.

Thou Know'st 'tis Common; All That Lives Must Die, Passing Through Nature To Eternity.

Fruits That Blossom First Will First Be Ripe.

Wine Loved I Deeply, Dice Dearly.

The Brain May Devise Laws For The Blood, But A Hot Temper Leaps O'er A Cold Decree.

I Do Love Nothing In The World So Well As You- Is Not That Strange?

I Once Did Hold It, As Our Statists Do, A Baseness To Write Fair, And Labour'd Much How To Forget That Learning; But, Sir, Now It Did Me Yeoman's Service.

O All You Host Of Heaven! O Earth! What Else? And Shall I Couple Hell?

Now, My Co-mates And Brothers In Exile, Hath Not Old Custom Made This Life More Sweet Than That Of Painted Pomp? Are Not These Woods More Free From Peril Than The Envious Court?

O Horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue Nor Heart Cannot Conceive Nor Name Thee!

By Heaven, I Love Thee Better Than Myself

Thou Hast No Figures Nor No Fantasies Which Busy Care Draws In The Brains Of Men; Therefore Thou Sleep'st So Sound.

Profit Is A Blessing, If It's Not Stolen.

Truly The Souls Of Men Are Full Of Dread: Ye Cannot Reason Almost With A Man That Looks Not Heavily And Full Of Fear.

Temptation Is The Fire That Brings Up The Scum Of The Heart.

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.

We Cannot All Be Masters, Nor All Masters Cannot Be Truly Followed.

If One Good Deed In All My Life I Did, I Do Repent It From My Very Soul.

This Tyrant, Whose Sole Name Blisters Our Tongues,was Once Thought Honest.

If The Boy Have Not A Woman's Gift To Rain A Shower Of Commanded Tears, An Onion Will Do Well For Such A Shift.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say! One: Two: Why, Then 'tis Time To Do't. Hell Is Murky!

I Pray You, In Your Letters, When You Shall These Unlucky Deeds Relate, Speak Of Me As I Am; Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice. Then Must You Speak Of One That Loved Not Wisely But Too Well; Of One Not Easily Jealous, But Being Wrought, Perplexed In The Extreme. . .

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

Why, Look You, I Am Whipp'd And Scourg'd With Rods, Nettled And Stung With Pismires[nettles], When I Hear Of This Vile Politician, Bolingbroke.

Pride Went Before, Ambition Follows Him.

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.

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

Twelfth Night Important

To You Your Father Should Be As A God.

A Book? O, Rare One, Be Not, As Is Our Fangled World, A Garment Nobler Than That It Covers.

Strikes Deeper, Grows With More Pernicious Root.

O That A Lady, Of One Man Refused, Should Of Another Therefore Be Abused!

All Offences Come From The Heart.

They Do Not Love That Do Not Show Their Love. The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. Love Is A Familiar. Love Is A Devil. There Is No Evil Angel But Love.

We Waste Our Lights In Vain, Like Lamps By Day.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World, With Vilest Worms To Dwell.

Done To Death By Slanderous Tongue

Their Manners Are More Gentle, Kind, Than Of Our Human Generation You Shall Find.

This Above All; To Thine Own Self Be True.

Fortune Brings In Some Boats That Are Not Steered.

Thriftless Ambition, That Wilt Ravin Up Thine Own Life's Means!

Her Virtues, Graced With External Gifts, Do Breed Love's Settled Passions In My Heart; And Like As Rigour Of Tempestuous Gusts Provokes The Mightiest Hulk Against The Tide, So Am I Driven By Breath Of Her Renown Either To Suffer Shipwreck Or Arrive Where I May Have Fruition Of Her Love.

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

Neither A Borrower Nor A Lender Be.

God Shall Be My Hope, My Stay, My Guide And Lantern To My Feet.

Time Is A Very Bankrupt And Owes More Than He's Worth To Season. Nay, He's A Thief Too: Have You Not Heard Men Say, That Time Comes Stealing On By Night And Day?

While He Was Drunk Asleep, Or In His Rage, Or In The Incestuous Pleasure Of His Bed.

Those That Much Covet Are With Gain So Fond, For What They Have Not, That Which They Possess They Scatter And Unloose It From Their Bond, And So, By Hoping More, They Have But Less; Or, Gaining More, The Profit Of Excess Is But To Surfeit, And Such Griefs Sustain, That They Prove Bankrupt In This Poor-rich Gain.

Hath Romeo Slain Himself? Say Thou But Ay, And That Bare Vowel Ay Shall Poison More Than The Death-darting Eye Of Cockatrice. I Am Not I,if There Be Such An Ay, Or Those Eyes Shut,that Make Thee Answer Ay: If He Be Slain Say Ay,or If Not,no: Brief Sounds,determine Of My Weal Or Woe.

Sleep, That Sometimes Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye.

Preferment Goes By Letter And Affection, And Not By Old Gradation, Where Each Second Stood Heir To Th's First.

There Is No Love-broker In The World Can More Prevail In Man's Commendation With Woman Than Report Of Valor.

The Fortune Of Us That Are The Moon's Men Doth Ebb And Flow Like The Sea, Being Governed, As The Sea Is, By The Moon.

Give To A Gracious Message An Host Of Tongues, But Let Ill Tidings Tell Themselves When They Be Felt.

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

What A Deformed Thief This Fashion Is.

What A Fool Honesty Is.

Tush! Fear Not, My Lord, We Will Not Stand To Prate; Talkers Are No Good Doers: Be Assured We Come To Use Our Hands And Not Our Tongues.

Praise Us As We Are Tasted, Allow Us As We Prove.

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

I Have Heard It Said There Is An Art Which In Their Piedness Shares With Great Creating Nature.

The King's Name Is A Tower Of Strength.

Rashly, And Praised Be Rashness For It--let Us Know, Our Indiscretion Sometime Serves Us Well When Our Deep Plots Do Pall, And That Should Learn Us There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will

I Am But Mad North-north-west. When The Wind Is Southerly, I Know A Hawk From A Handsaw.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?

They That Have Voice Of Lions And Act Of Hares,--are They Not Monsters?

Tis Time To Fear When Tyrants Seem To Kiss.

What's To Come Is Still Unsure: In Delay There Lies No Plenty; Then Come Kiss Me, Sweet And Twenty, Youth's A Stuff Will Not Endure.

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

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.

I Feel It Gone, Yet Know Not When It Left.

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

O, That Our Fathers Would Applause Our Loves, To Seal Our Happiness With Hteir Consents!

Honest Plain Words Best Pierce The Ear Of Grief.

What Time Hath Scanted Men In Hair, He Hath Given Them In Wit.

I Sat Upon A Promontory, And Heard A Mermaid, On A Dolphin's Back, Uttering Such Dulcet And Harmonious Breath, That The Rude Sea Grew Civil At Her Song; And Certain Stars Shot Madly From Their Spheres, To Hear The Sea-maid's Music.

How Many Fond Fools Serve Mad Jealousy!

When A Wise Man Gives Thee Better Counsel, Give Me Mine Again.

What, Shall One Of Us, That Struck For The Foremost Man Of All This World But For Supporting Robbers--shall We Now Contaminate Our Fingers With Base Bribes, And Sell The Mighty Space Of Our Large Honors For So Much Trash As May Be Grasped Thus?

What Seest Thou Else In The Dark Backward And Abysm Of Time?

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!

Every Inordinate Cup Is Unbless'd, And The Ingredient Is A Devil.

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.

A Little More Than Kin, And Less Than Kind.

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

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

Heaven Take My Soul, And England Keep My Bones!

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

Golden Lads And Girls All Must As Chimney Sweepers Come To Dust.

All The Perfumes Of Arabia Will Not Sweeten This Little Hand! Oh, Oh, Oh!

Britain Is A World By Itself, And We Will Nothing Pay For Wearing Our Own Noses.

Glory Grows Guilty Of Detested Crimes.

Faith, Stay Here This Night; They Will Surely Do Us No Harm; You Saw They Speak Us Fair, Give Us Gold; Methinks They Are Such A Gentle Nation That, But For The Mountain Of Mad Flesh That Claims Marriage Of Me, Could Find In My Heart To Stay Here Still And Turn Witch.

I Have Almost Forgotten The Taste Of Fears: The Time Has Been, My Senses Would Have Cool’d To Hear A Night-shriek; And My Fell Of Hair Would At A Dismal Treatise Rouse And Stir As Life Were In’t: I Have Supt Full With Horrors; Direness, Familiar To My Slaughterous Thoughts, Cannot Once Start Me.

But Shall We Wear These Glories For A Day? Or Shall They Last, And We Rejoice In Them?

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

Sir, The Year Growing Ancient, Not Yet On Summer's Death Nor On The Birth Of Trembling Winter, The Fairest Flowers O' Th' Season Are Our Carnations And Streaked Gillyvors, Which Some Call Nature's Bastards.

It Is Not Vain Glory For A Man And His Glass To Confer In His Own Chamber.

These Words Are Razors To My Wounded Heart.

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

Ay, But Hearken, Sir; Though The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air, I Am One That Am Nourished By My Victuals, And Would Fain Have Meat.

Whose Heart The Accustom'd Sight Of Death Makes Hard.

I Cannot But Remember Such Things Were That Were Most Precious To Me.

And He Goes Through Life, His Mouth Open, And His Mind Closed.

This Day's Black Fate On More Days Doth Depend; This But Begins The Woe, Others Must End.

Well, I'll Repent, And That Suddenly, While I Am In Some Liking; I Shall Be Out Of Heart Shortly, And Then I Shall Have No Strength To Repent.

I Will Chide No Breather In The World But Myself, Against Whom I Know Most Faults.

Ay, When Fowls Have No Feathers And Fish Have No Fin.

I Have Been Long A Sleeper; But I Trust My Absence Doth Neglect No Great Design Which By My Presence Might Have Been Concluded.

Wisdom And Goodness To The Vile Seem Vile; Filths Savour But Themselves.

We Fail! But Screw Your Courage To The Sticking-place, And We'll Not Fail.

Men's Faults Do Seldom To Themselves Appear.

Can It Be Chat Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness?

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian.

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.

For Who So Firm That Cannot Be Seduced?

A Very Honest Woman But Something Given To Lie

Blood Will Have Blood.

Too Early Seen Unknown, And Known Too Late!

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

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

Now I Will Believe That There Are Unicorns.

Rumour Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures And Of So Easy And So Plain A Stop That The Blunt Monster With Uncounted Heads, The Still-discordant Wavering Multitude, Can Play Upon It.

It Provokes The Desire, But It Takes Away The Performance

Who Has A Book Of All That Monarchs Do, He's More Secure To Keep It Shut Than Shown; For Vice Repeated Is Like The Wand'ring Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eye, To Spread Itself; And Yet The End Of All Is Bought Thus Dear, The Breath Is Gone, And The Sore Eyes See Clear To Stop The Air Would Hurt Them.

Plenty And Peace Breed Cowards; Hardness Ever Of Hardiness Is Mother.

Sweet Are The Uses Of Adversity

To Sue To Live, I Find I Seek To Die; And, Seeking Death, Find Life: Let It Come On.

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

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

What My Tongue Dares Not That My Heart Shall Say

No Metal Can--no, Not The Hangman's Axe--bear Half The Keenness Of Thy Sharp Envy.

I Desire You In Friendship, And I Will One Way Or Other Make You Amends.

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.

To Be Generous, Guiltless, And Of A Free Disposition Is To Take Those Things For Bird-bolts That You Deem Cannon-bullets.

Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds

Come, Gentlemen, I Hope We Shall Drink Down All Unkindness.

Farewell The Plumed Troop, And The Big Wars That Make Ambition Virtue! O, Farewell! Farewell The Neighing Steed And The Shrill Trump, The Spirit-stirring Drum, Th' Ear-piercing Fife, The Royal Banner, And All Quality, Pride, Pomp, And Circumstance Of Glorious War!

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

Villains, Vipers, Damn'd Without Redemption; Dogs, Easily Won To Fawn On Any Man; Snakes In My Heart-blood Warm'd, That Sing My Heart; Three Judases, Each One Thrice Worse Than Judas.

Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths; The Valiant Never Taste Of Death But Once. Of All The Wonders That I Yet Have Heard, It Seems To Me Most Strange That Men Should Fear; Seeing That Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come.

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

But I Will Be, A Bridegroom In My Death, And Run Into't As To A Lover's Bed.

God's Will! My Liege, Would You And I Alone, Without More Help, Could Fight This Royal Battle!

Light Boats Sail Swift, Though Greater Hulks Draw Deep.

O Sir, You Are Old; Nature In You Stands On The Very Verge Of Her Confine; You Should Be Ruled And Led By Some Discretion, That Discerns Your Fate Better Than You Yourself.

O For A Muse Of Fire, That Would Ascend The Brightest Heaven Of Invention, A Kingdom For A Stage, Princes To Act And Monarchs To Behold The Swelling Scene!

To Be Direct And Honest Is Not Safe.

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.

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