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What a piece of work is a man how noble in reason how infinite in faculty in form and moving how express and admirable in action how like an angel in apprehension how like a god
All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages.
See first that the design is wise and just that ascertained, pursue it resolutely do not for one repulse forego the purpose that you resolved to effect.
There is a tide in the affairs of men Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, A brother's murder.
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence.
Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
To be, or not to be that is the question Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them To die to sleep No more and by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,--'t is a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep To sleep perchance to dream ay, there's the rub For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.
The quality of mercy is not strained It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed- It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
Alas, poor Yorick I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must come.
Hamlet Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel Polonius By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet Or like a whale Polonius Very like a whale.
And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
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.
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.
They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad.
O, now, for ever Farewell the tranquil mind farewell content Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars That make ambition virtue O, farewell Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell Othello's occupation's gone
But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture,Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.And thus I clothe my naked villainyWith odd old ends stolen forth of holy writ,And seem I a saint, when most I play the Devil.
Our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Be not afraid of greatness some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, Till by broad spreading it disperses to naught.
And thus I clothe my naked villainy With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying Nothing.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,-- This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
Excellent wretch Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us.Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned,Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,That I will speak to thee.
Lady you bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, And there is such confusion in my powers.
He who has injured thee was either stronger or weaker than thee. If weaker, spare him if stronger, spare thyself.
His life was gentle and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls Who steals my purse steals trash 'tis something, nothing 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain
'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
He was my friend, faithful, and just to me, but Brutus says, he was ambitious, and Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. Did this in Caesar seem ambitious. When the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept. Ambition should me made of sterner stuff, yet Brutus says, he was ambitious and Brutus is an honorable man.
Begin at Act II, Scene 2, line 242: Royal wench, she did lay great Caesar's sword to bed--he plowed her and she cropt.
Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood.
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.
Age cannot wither her, nor custom staleHer infinite variety other women cloyThe appetites they feed, but she makes hungryWhere most she satisfies.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues Let every eye negotiate for itself And trust no agent.
How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown
Beware Of entrance to a quarrel but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy rich, not gaudy For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.
See first that the design is wise and just: that ascertained, pursue it resolutely; do not for one repulse forego the purpose that you resolved to effect.
For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them The good is oft interred with their bones.
When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind oppress, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart but the saying is true 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound'.
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrance. And one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages
Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.
Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go.
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt love
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt love
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.
He who has injured thee was either stronger or weaker than thee. If weaker, spare him; if stronger, spare thyself.
His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!
How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere
I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.
If music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die
It is the mind that makes the body rich; and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honor peereth in the meanest habit.
Lady you berefit me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, And there is such confusion in my powers.
Let me have men about me that are fat, Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look He thinks too much such men are dangerous.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
No, 'tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world.
Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?
Oft expectation fails, and most oft where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest; and despair most sits.
Oh, thou hast a damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with our English dead In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
Speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.
Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, like a toad, though ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in its head.
The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. The motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted.
Their understanding Begins to swell and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shores That now lie foul and muddy.
This above all TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE. And it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
This above all; to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country, as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court.
Time hath a wallet at his back, wherein he puts. Alms for oblivion, a great-sized monster of ingratitudes.
To die, to sleep --To sleep, perchance to dream, ay there's the rub,For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life.
To thine own self be true -; And it must follow as the night the day; Thou canst not be false to any man
When he is best, he is a little worse than a man and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.
When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence So sweet is zealous contemplation.
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