Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet fondly loves!
Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear.
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.
It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee
Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.
That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I.
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such, Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.
Pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision.
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
Affection is a coal that must be cooled; else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.
The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.
Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
Should all despair That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves.
Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies.
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime...
This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh!
He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure.
And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night.
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.
What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide.
Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
O, that our fathers would applause our loves, To seal our happiness with hteir consents!
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might. Whoever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight.
That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in. and the best of me is diligence.
Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.
There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old.
I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty
Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
Passion lends them power, time means to meet, tempering extremities with extremes sweet.
If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.
So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, divisions none.
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
So may the outward shows be least themselves; The world is still deceived with ornament.
The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; for 'tis the mind that makes the body rich