Over 40,000 Famous Quotes Sorted By Topic and Author

It is the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman Which gives the stern'st good-night.

Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; Then, for the third part of a minute, hence-- Some to kill canters in the musk-rose buds, Some war with reremice for their leathren wings, To make my small elves coats, and some keep back The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.

I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me he shall never make me such a fool.

Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book, To seek the light of truth, which truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.

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.

And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Yet marked O where the bolt of Cupid fell. It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair.

These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' th' alehouse.

If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.

They say be parted well and paid his score, And so, God be with him.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?

Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.

What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.

O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world, And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation.

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? Some bloody passion shakes your very frame. These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, They do not point on me.

Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently. For in the very torrent, tempest, and as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.

Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather have eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.