Shall we their fond pageant see?Lord, what fools these mortals be!

I can call spirits from the vasty deep.”Why so can I, or so can any man. But will they come when you do call for them?

Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.

Ela teria de morrer, mais cedo ou mais tarde. Morta. Mais tarde haveria um tempo para essa palavra. Amanhã, e amanhã, e ainda outro amanhã arrastam-se nessa passada trivial do dia para a noite, da...

Many can brook (endure) the weather that love not the wind

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.

Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know.

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...

To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

For she had eyes and chose me.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended,That you have but slumbered hereWhile these visions did appear.And this weak and idle theme,No more yielding but a dream,Gentles, do not reprehend:If you...

Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.

The pow’r I have on you is to spare you / The malice towards you, to forgive you. Posthumus

Totus mundus agit histrionem. (All the World’s a Stage.)”[Motto of William Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre (f. 1599) and its acting company, The King’s Men; taken from the first play to be performed on the new stage.]

Thou art a votary to fond desire

By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me.

The world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law. – Romeo

Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit,And look on death itself!

O, that’s a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely,

En nuestros locos intentos, renunciamos a lo que somos por lo que esperamos ser.

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.Who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week?Or sells eternity to get a toy?For one sweet grape...

Have not we affections and desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?

I would forget it fain,But oh, it presses to my memory,Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.

Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.

I have no spurTo prick the sides of my intent, but onlyVaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itselfAnd falls on the other.

Weaving spiders, come not here, Hence, you long legged spinners, hence! Beetles black, approach not here, worm nor snail, do no offense.

You mar our labour: keep your cabins:you do assist the storm[…] What cares these roarers for the name of king?

Good madonna, give me leave toprove you a fool.

Women speak two languages – one of which is verbal.

Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometimes too...

Of all the wonders that I have heard,It seems to me most strange that men should fear;Seeing death, a necessary end,Will come when it will come.(Act II, Scene 2)

For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.

Fondling,’ she saith, ‘since I have hemm’d thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:...

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:Then, heigh-ho, the holly!This life is most jolly.

Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her, But Romeo may not.

Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

O, she’s warm!If this be magic, let it be an artLawful as eating.

O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been.

QUINCEFrancis Flute, the bellows-mender.FLUTEHere, Peter Quince.QUINCEFlute, you must take Thisby on you.FLUTEWhat is Thisby? a wandering knight?QUINCEIt is the lady that Pyramus must love.FLUTENay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard...

CLEOPATRA: My salad days,When I was green in judgment: cold in blood,To say as I said then! But, come, away;Get me ink and paper:He shall have every day a several greeting,Or I’ll unpeople Egypt.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come.

turn him into stars and form a constellation in his image. His face will make the heavens so beautiful that the world will fall in love with the night and forget about the garish sun.

Though she be but little, she is fierce!

Those that much covet are with gain so fond,For what they have not, that which they possessThey scatter and unloose it from their bond,And so, by hoping more, they have but less;Or, gaining more, the...

…and what’s his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to...

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