Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well and yet words are not deeds.
An overflow of good converts to bad.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
It provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance
Well, every one can master a grief but he that has it.
Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
These violent delights have violent ends.
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion
Then must you speakOf one that loved not wisely but too well,Of one not easily jealous but, being wrought,Perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand,Like the base Indian, threw a pearl awayRicher tha...
Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none. Beatrice: A dear...
The art of our necessities is strangeThat can make vile things precious.
Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave m...
Refrain to-night;And that shall lend a kind of easinessTo the next abstinence, the next more easy;For use almost can change the stamp of nature,And either master the devil or throw him outWith wondrou...
My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is soordinary that the whippe...
Life... is a paradise to what we fear of death.
Let us not burthen our remembrance withA heaviness that's gone.
Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
I'll have no husband, if you be not he.