When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.

I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil that’s in me should set hell on fire.

A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.

Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more!Macbeth does murder sleep, – the innocent sleep;Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care, The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.

When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.

It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in’t.

Let us not burthen our remembrance withA heaviness that’s gone.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

Nuestras dudas son traidoras, porque nos hacen perder aquello que pudimos ganar, por miedo a intentarlo

Love is not love which alters it when alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy...

What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts…

To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently abeast!

should” is like a spendthrift sighThat hurts by easing.

Diseases desperate grown,By desperate appliance are relieved,Or not at all.

Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are.

Our nearness to the king in love is nearness to those who love not the king.

More are men’s ends marked than their lives before.The setting sun, the music at the close,As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover,To entertain these fair well-spoken days, —I am determined to prove a villain,And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear,Thou lily-livered boy.

Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know / When though didst hate him worst, thou loved’st him better / Than ever thou loved’st Cassius.

Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,/ Wherein the…enemy does much.

But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament

Where is Polonius?- In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i’ the other place yourself.

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

Life … is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.

There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.

La vida es mi tortura y la muerte será mi descanso.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus; and we petty menWalk under his huge legs, and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonourable graves.

The Devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape.

For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away

Beauty itself doth of itself persuadeThe eyes of men without orator.

What’s the matter, you dissentious rogues,That rubbing the poor itch of your opinionMake yourselves scabs?

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!–Hamlet (I, v, 106)

When Rosencrantz asks Hamlet, “Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your grief to your friends”(III, ii, 844-846), Hamlet responds, “Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem...

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow

The blessedness of being little!!!

There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring [making music] to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls,But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it.

But man, proud man,Dress’d in a little brief authority,Most ignorant of what he’s most assur’d—His glassy essence—like an angry apePlays such fantastic tricks before high heavenAs makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens,Would all themselves laugh mortal.

Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.

His jest shall savour but a shallow wit, when thousands more weep than did laugh it.

Unsex me here and fill me from crown to toe full of direst cruelty That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose.” Macbeth

From this day to the ending of the world,But we in it shall be remembered-We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;For he to-day that sheds his blood with meShall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,This day shall gentle his condition;And gentlemen in England now-a-bedShall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,And...

If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul.

The curse of true love never did run smooth.

Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.