| Quote | Author | Work |
|---|
| Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate; | |
| This above all: To thine own self be true. | |
| Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foes. | |
| A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse! | |
| I may assert th' Eternal Providence, And justifie the ways of God to men. | |
| With hideous ruin and combustion, down to bottomless perdition, there to dwell in adamantine chains and penal fire, | |
| For what can war but endless war still breed? | |
| If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. | |
| The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool | |
| Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. | |
| All is not lost- the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and courage never to submit or yield: | |
| When shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? | |
| No nightly trace or breathed spell, inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. | |
| I am a man more sinned against than sinning | |
| As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods, they kill us for their sport. | |
| | Quote | Author | Work |
|---|
| Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled. | |
| When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide | |
| So farewell, hope; and with hope farewell, fear; farewell, remorse: all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good. | |
| The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief. | |
| The course of true love never did run smooth | |
| To me, fair friend, you never can be old, for as you were when first your eye I ey'd, such seems your beauty still. | |
| With diadem and sceptre high advanced, the lower still I fall, only supreme in misery: such joy ambition finds. | |
| Frail is our happiness, if this be so, and Eden were no Eden, thus exposed. | |
| This other Eden, demi-paradise, this fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war | |
| By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. | |
| For what God, after better, worse would build? | |
| To die, to sleep- to sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, | |
| We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep. | |
| Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon; the world was all before them, where to choose their place of rest, and Providence their guide. | |
| Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments; love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. | |
| Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate; | |
| This above all: To thine own self be true. | |
| Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foes. | |
| A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse! | |
| I may assert th' Eternal Providence, And justifie the ways of God to men. | |
| With hideous ruin and combustion, down to bottomless perdition, there to dwell in adamantine chains and penal fire, | |
| For what can war but endless war still breed? | |
| If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. | |
| The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool | |
| Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. | |
| All is not lost- the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and courage never to submit or yield: | |
| When shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? | |
| No nightly trace or breathed spell, inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. | |
| I am a man more sinned against than sinning | |
| As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods, they kill us for their sport. | |
| Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled. | |
| When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide | |
| So farewell, hope; and with hope farewell, fear; farewell, remorse: all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good. | |
| The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief. | |
| The course of true love never did run smooth | |
| To me, fair friend, you never can be old, for as you were when first your eye I ey'd, such seems your beauty still. | |
| With diadem and sceptre high advanced, the lower still I fall, only supreme in misery: such joy ambition finds. | |
| Frail is our happiness, if this be so, and Eden were no Eden, thus exposed. | |
| This other Eden, demi-paradise, this fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war | |
| By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. | |
| For what God, after better, worse would build? | |
| To die, to sleep- to sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, | |
| We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep. | |
| Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon; the world was all before them, where to choose their place of rest, and Providence their guide. | |
| Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments; love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. | |
|
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