* * * * *
If music be the food of love, play on.
* * * * *
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course
* * * * *
There's place and means for every man alive.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.
* * * * *
No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.
* * * * *
I am one who loved not wisely but too well. (Othello)
* * * * *
If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottage princes’ palaces. (The Merchant of Venice)
* * * * *
We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep. (The Tempest)
* * * * *
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. (Macbeth)
* * * * *
Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.
* * * * *
It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood
* * * * *
There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
* * * * *
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
* * * * *
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child! (King Lear)
* * * * *
By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap to pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, or dive into the bottom of the deep, where fathom-line could never touch the ground, and pluck up drowned honour by the locks. (Henry IV Part 1)
* * * * *
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? (The Merchant of Venice)
* * * * *
This is very midsummer madness. (Twelfth Night)
* * * * *
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. (Much Ado about Nothing)
* * * * *
I cannot tell what the dickens his name is. (The Merry Wives of Windsor)
* * * * *
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle…This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. (Richard II)
* * * * *
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
* * * * *
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
* * * * *
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
* * * * *
Love is too young to know what conscience is.
* * * * *
But men are men; the best sometimes forget.
0 comments:
Post a Comment