The native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought; and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

[…] my heart is wondrous light,Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim’d.

O! how shall summer’s honey breath hold out, / Against the wrackful siege of battering days?

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale.

A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.

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

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...

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.

They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.

When he shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fineThat all the world will be in love with nightAnd pay no worship to the...

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell;Nay, if you read...

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.I have...

In time we hate that which we often fear.

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,...

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...

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...

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.