O, who can hold a fire in his hand
This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle
Let's talk of graves
What must the king do now
I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love
I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace
The fault will be in the music if you be not wooed in good time
I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care
His words are a very fantastical bouquet - just so many strange dishes
What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
Shall these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humor?
Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade
I will imitate the sun, who doth permit the base, contagious clouds
Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!
For there was never yet a philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently
O that I were a mockery king of snow
The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed the shadow of your face
If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, and that's a feeling disputation
O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace
Now let not nature's hand keep the wild flood confined!
I take but two shirts with me and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily
And these two beget a generation of still-breeding thoughts
And now for the love of Love and her soft hours
We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts
The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, burned on the water
I found you as a morsel cold on dead Caesar's trencher
I will overtake thee, Cleopatra, and weep for my pardon
The crown o' th' Earth doth melt
The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings to wash the eyes of kings
I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony
Give me my robe, put on my crown, I have immortal longings in me
O that this too too sullied flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew
What a piece of work is man
So oft it chances in particular men
To be or not to be
The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft
And practicing on his peace and quiet even unto madness
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster
And out of her own goodness make the net that shall enmesh them all
O curse of marriage that we can call these delicate creatures ours and not their appetites
By heaven, he echoes me, as if there were some monster in his thought
Let them know, the ills we do, their ills instruct us so
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, that the sense aches at thee
Where is that Promethean heat that can thy light relume
One that loved not wisely, but too well
Nature in you stands on the very verge of his confine
O reason not the need!
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
A bitter fool
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks
Poor naked wretches that bide the pelting of this pitiless storm
Is man no more than this?
Let copulation thrive. To't, luxury, pell-mell
To lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star
Now, gods, stand up for bastards
Forswear thin potations and addict themselves to sack
My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me
I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers
See, sons, what things you are!
O God! that one might read the book of fate
The tide of blood in me hath proudly flowed in vanity till now
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Thy wish was father to that thought
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow
Enter Rumor, painted full of tongues
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you
You kiss by th' book
But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon
Parting is such sweet sorrow
Take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of heaven so fine
Shall I believe that unsubstantial Death is amorous
To live a barren sister all your life chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon
O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity
Methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face, and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend more than cool reason ever comprehends
O for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, how you awake our sleeping sword of war
Now all the youth of England are on fire, and silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies
Once more unto the breach, or close the wall up with our English dead!
O Ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is the soul of thy adoration?
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers
What say you? Will you yield and this avoid?
If I could win a lady at leapfrog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armor on my back I should quickly leap into a wife.
I am Sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
All things that are are with more spirit chased than enjoyed.
Hath not a Jew eyes?
An index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts
The quality of mercy is not strained
Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything
My lungs began to crow like a chanticleer that fools should be so deep contemplative
Oh that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat
Sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of time as well as any clock
I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad
Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour
Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love
Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives
My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal
I stalk about her door like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
In all Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster
O virtuous fight, when right with right wars who shall be most right!
Time hath a wallet at his back wherein he puts alms for oblivion
For every false drop in her bawdy veins a Grecian's life hath sunk
Had I this cheek to bathe my lips upon
O, learn'ed indeed were that astronomer that knew the stars as I his characters
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, I must be ripped. To pieces with me!
Nobly he yokes a smiling with a sigh
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coined it.
When, spite of cormorant, devouring Time, the present breath may buy that honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain
How well he's read to reason against reading! Proceeded well to stop all good proceeding!
A woman that is like a German clock, still a-reparing, ever out of frame
Why all his behaviors did make their retire to the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire
These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater
That sport best pleases that doth least know how
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief
Here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to see't
Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite chapfall'n?
Present fears are less than horrible imaginings
It is too full of the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way
Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here
But here upon this bank and shoal of time, we'ld jump the life to come
Is this a dagger which I see before me?
Macbeth has murdered sleep! Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care, the death of each day's life, sore labor's bath
From this moment the very firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand
My way of life is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
O, a kiss long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a forset-seller
Pluck out the multitudinous tongue; let them not lick the sweet which is their poison
Let me have war, say I. It exeeds peace as far as day does night
When drums and trumpets shall i'th'field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be made all of false-faced soothing
The dust on antique time would lie unswept and mountainous error be too highly heaped for truth t'o'erpeer
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better
You are now sailed into the North of my lady's opinion
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them
O you should not rest between the elements of air and earth but you should pity me
She sat like patience on a monument smiling at grief
If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs becomes them with one half so good a grace as mercy does
Can it be that modesty may more betray our sense than woman's lightness
The utterance of a brace of tongues must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes
Ah none but in this iron age would do it
I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen upon a parchment
Grief fills the room up of my absent child
His little kingdom of a forced grave
What earthy name to interrogatories can task the free breath of a sacred king?
A foot of honor better than I was, but many a many foot of land the worse
Mad world! Mad kings! Mad composition!
Now is the winter of our discontent
This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, shall for thy love kill a far truer love
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, that I may see my shadow as I pass
Pity you, ancient stones, those tender babes
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk
Windy attorneys to their clients woes, airy succeeders of intestate joys
I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster
Mine would, sir, were I human
And deeper than ever did plummet sound, I'll drown my book
Gentle breath of yours my sails must fill, or else my project fails
When you speak, sweet, I'ld have you do it ever
He utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's ears grew to his tunes
When I waked, I cried to dream again
O, the cry did knock against my very heart
The white cold virgin snow upon my heart abates the ardour of my liver
We are such stuff as dreams are made on
And ginger shall be hot i' the mouth
O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
Soft stillness and the night become the touches of sweet harmony
Tell the pleasant prince this mock of his hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones
He that dies this year is quit for the next
We are but warriors for the working-day
That these hot tears which break from me perforce should make thee worth them.
O brave new world, That has such people in't!
Eternity was in our lips and eyes
Be absolute for death; either death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
Full fathom five thy father lies
You taught me language, and my profit on ft Is I know how to curse.
Oh, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters
