(C) AllGreatQuotes. All Rights Reserved.
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
– William Shakespeare
For ’tis the sport to have the enginer Hoist with his own petar.
A king of shreds and patches.
A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.
We go to gain a little patch of ground, That hath in it no profit but the name.
Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and godlike reason To fust in us unused.
Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour’s at the stake.
Lord! we know what we are, but know not what we may be.
To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day, All in the morning betime.
Then up he rose, and donned his clothes.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions.
Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliance are relieved, Or not at all.
Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul.
Come, my coach! Good-night ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night.
He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a green-grass tuft; At his heels a stone.
Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what’s past; avoid what is to come.
There’s such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would.
How should I your true love know From another one? By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandal shoon.
His means of death, his obscure burial, No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones, No noble rite nor formal ostentation.
A very riband in the cap of youth.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet It is our trick, nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
His beard was as white as snow.
There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.
Is she to be buried in Christian burial that willfully seeks her own salvation?
They bore him barefaced on the bier Hey no nonny, nonny, hey nonny And on his grave rained many a tear.
There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers and grave-makers.
A politician…one that would circumvent God.
The age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.
One woe doth tread upon another’s heel, So fast they follow.
And where the offence is let the great axe fall.