One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.
I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.
April … hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature’s soft nurse, how have I freighted thee, that thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down and steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, list thou in smoky cribs, upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush’s with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull’s with sound of sweetest melody?
To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? Tic a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.
So wise so young, they say, do never live long.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! 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.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
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.
Literature is a comprehensive essence of the intellectual life of a nation.
One man in his time plays many parts.
Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
If music be the food of love, play on.
In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
They do not love that do not show their love.
Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.
Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But bad mortality overstays their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
The wind-she’d surge, with high and monstrous main, Seems to cast water
on the burning Bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole.
And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night.
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.
By medicine life may be prolonged, yet death will seize the doctor too.
This royal throne of kings, this scattered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, –This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
I’ll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hacked.
Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!