Call me what instrume you will,though you can fret me,yet you cannot play upon me.
William ShakespeareI drink to the general joy o’ the whole table." Macbeth
William ShakespeareTag: life happiness shakespeare joy toast party
The robb'd that smiles, steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
William ShakespeareMuster your wits; stand in your own defence...
William ShakespeareTag: betsy-tacy
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.
William ShakespeareTag: decisions
A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
William ShakespeareThe lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
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. Mark the music.
William ShakespeareTag: music the-merchant-of-venice
I think the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots.
William ShakespeareTag: merchant-of-venice
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love.
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! Serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
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