Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.
I bear a charmed life.
How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
Beware the ides of March.
All the world's a stage.
Let no such man be trusted.
All the world's a stage And all the men and women merely players.
But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.
If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'this poet lies! Such heaven never touched earthly faces
When lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner
Summer's lease hath all too short a date.
O my love, my wife!Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breathHath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Journeys end in lovers meeting.
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?. - (Act III, scene I).
How art thou out of breath when thou hast breathTo say to me that thou art out of breath?
What is the city but the people?
Things done well and with care exempt themselves from fear.
The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation that away Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
We cannot all be masters.