Beauty itself doth of itself persuade the eyes of men without an orator.
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.
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of his own respect.
Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And Nature must obey necessity.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
I have more flesh than another man and therefore more frailty.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
The miserable have no other medicine but only hope
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
My heart is ever at your service.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
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.
Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.