First Before Looking at some William Shakespeare quotes, Let look at who he was. William Shakespeare was an English poet, playwright, and actor, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world’s greatest dramatist. He is often called England’s national poet and the “Bard of Avon” with so many Books under his name but the most Popular was Romeo And Juliet.
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RECOMENDED FRO YOU: Quotes based on “Attitude”
|Books Title||Prices According To thriftbooks|
|The Third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the Death of the Duke of York…||$ 3.99|
|A Collection of the Plays, Romances, Novels, Poems, and Histories||$ 5.09|
|Manga Shakespeare: King Lear||$ 3.99|
|Manga Shakespeare: As You Like It||$4.19|
|Shakespeare’s Hamlet: The Manga Edition||$4.39|
|Shakespeare: A Book of Quotations||$3.99|
|The Norton Shakespeare, Based on the Oxford Edition||$5.49|
|The Viking Portable Library: Shakespeare||$3.99|
|Shakespeare’s Macbeth (Cliff’s Notes)||$ 3.99|
|Shakespeare: The Complete Works||$13.19|
|The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark||$3.99|
|The Complete Works of William Shakespeare||$6.19|
|The Tragedy of Macbeth||$3.99|
|The Tragedy of Othello, The Moor of Venice||$3.99|
|A Midsommer nights dreame||$3.99|
|An Excellent conceited Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet||$3.99|
|The Tragedie of Julius Cæsar||$ 3.99|
|Much Ado About Nothing||$3.99|
|The Taming of the Shrew||$3.99|
|The Merchant of Venice||$3.99|
|The Tragedie of King Lear||$3.99|
|As You Like It||$3.99|
|Romeo and Juliet||$7.39|
|Measure for Measure||$3.99|
But, lo! from forth a copse that neighbours by, A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, Adonis’ trampling courser doth espy, And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud;
The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;
The iron bit he crushes ‘tween his teeth
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane Upon his compass’d crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a furnace, vapours doth he send: His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
Sometime her trots, as if he told the steps, With gentle majesty and modest pride; Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, As who should say, ‘Lo! thus my strength is tried; And this I do to captivate the eye Of the fair breeder that is standing by.’
What recketh he his rider’s angry stir, His flattering ‘Holla,’ or his ‘Stand, I say?’ What cares he now for curb of pricking spur? For rich caparisons or trapping gay? He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look, when a painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well-proportion’d steed, His art with nature’s workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed; So did this horse excel a common one, In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone
Round-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; To bid the wind a race he now prepares, And whe’r he run or fly they know not whether; For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings.
He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her; She answers him as if she knew his mind; Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy malcontent, He vails his tail that, like a falling plume Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. His love, perceiving how he is enrag’d, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.
His testy master goeth about to take him; When lo! the unback’d breeder, full of fear, Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, With her the horse, and left Adonis there.
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.
I prophesy they death, my living sorrow, If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.
“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox which lives by subtlety, Or at the roe which no encounter dare:
Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,
And on they well-breath’d horse keep with they hounds.
“And when thou hast on food the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles How he outruns with winds, and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
The many musits through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
“Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:
“For there his smell with other being mingled, The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.
“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.
“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way; Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never reliev’d by any.
“Lie quietly, and hear a little more; Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, Applying this to that, and so to so; For love can comment upon every woe.”
RECOMMENDED FOR YOU: Love Poems that Creates Memories
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d,–
The wild waves whist– Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
The watch-dogs bark:
Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry,
–from The Tempest
Tell me where is Fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourishèd? Reply, reply. It is engender’d in the eyes; With gazing fed; and Fancy dies In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring Fancy’s knell: I’ll begin it,–Ding, dong, bell! All. Ding, dong, bell! –from The Merchant of Venice Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. -from The Tempest
Lord Amiens, a musician, sings before Duke Senior’s company
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh,
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not. Heigh-ho! sing . . .
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, . . . ‘
Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate
For the rain, . . .
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, . . .
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain, . . .
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, . . .
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain, . . .
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, . . .
But that’s all one, our play is done.
And we’ll strive to please you every day.
The Clown, singing
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers’ meeting—
Every wise man’s son doth know.
What is love? ’tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,—
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
Orpheus with his lute made trees.
And the mountain tops that freeze
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
A Road near the Shepherd’s Cottage.
Enter Autolycus, singing.
When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! The doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With heigh! the sweet birds, O,
how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and for my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily… is wasteful and ridiculous excess
Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
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.
What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.
When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.
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?
Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
If we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor.
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.
A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.
The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.
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