Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.BENEDICK Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.BEATRICE I took no more pains for those thanks than you takepains to thank me:…
How now, my sweet creature of bombast! How long is’t ago, Jack, since thou saw’st thien own knee?
Where is Polonius?- In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i’ the other place yourself.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play thefool no where but in’s own house.
Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!
O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
I am evenThe natural fool of fortune.
Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.
Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
And where two waging fires meet togetherThey do consume the thing that feeds their fury.Though little fire grows great with little wind,Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all.
If thou remember’st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not loved.
Your tale sir, would cure deafness
A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
A wretched soul bruised with adversity,We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;But were we burdened with like weight of pain,As much, or more, we should ourselves complain.
I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs.
l do desire we be better strangers
A man whom both the waters and the wind,In that vast tennis-court, have made the ballFor them to play upon.
So we grew together,Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,But yet an union in partition.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books;But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
Let me be cruel, not unnatural;I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frostsFall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
He that is proud eats up himself; pride in his glass, his trumpet, his chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise
Exceeds man’s might: that dwells with the gods above.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, action nor utterance, nor the power of speech, to stir men’s blood. I only speak right on. I tell you that which you yourselves do know.
Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it; the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
…the spring, the summer,The chilling autumn, angry winter, changeTheir wonted liveries; and the mazed worldBy their increase, now knows not which is which.