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A walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. Why, then the world's mine oyster Which I with sword will open. Action is eloquence. Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance? Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. To business that we love we rise betime, And go to it with delight. Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered. His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him that nature might stand up What is the city but the people? Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe. Conscience does make cowards of us all. He that dies pays all debts. I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death. The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts and is desired. Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it. 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 me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns. 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. I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, And from that full meridian of my glory I haste now to my setting. The fashion wears out more apparel than the man. That that is is. If you can look into the seeds of time and say, which grain will grow, and which will not, speak then to me. I do desire we may be better strangers. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. Men must endure their going hence, even as their coming hither; ripeness is all. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honour? A word. A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Such as we are made of, such we be. One man in his time plays many parts. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Goodnight! Goodnight! Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say goodnight 'til it be morrow. God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another. Neither a borrower nor a lender be for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance? I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient. Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. For there was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently. A politician . . . one that would circumvent God. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Sleep that knits up the ravelled 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. Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard. For some must watch, while some must sleep; thus runs the world away. What's gone and what's past help should be past grief. When sorrows come, they come not as single spies, But in battalions! He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. When I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. There's a small choice in rotten apples. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me; Shall be my brother. I must be cruel Only to be kind. Brevity is the soul of wit. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety; other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies. If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work. Things past redress are now with me past care. What cannot be avoided, t'were childish weakness to lament or fear. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course. Happy thou art not; for what thou hast not, still thou striv'est to get; and what thou hast, forget'est. He is well paid that is well satisfied. My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough. My crown is called content; a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support him after. A friend should bear his friend's infirmities. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel. Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below; Words without thoughts never to heaven go. We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy. We, ignorant of ourselves, beg often our own harms, which the wise powers deny us for our good. We cannot all be masters. Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting. Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie. Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves. Make use of time, let not advantage slip. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. Come what may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Time is the king of men. Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear. What's past is prologue. Past, and to come, seems best; things present, worst. Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd slave 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. Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. This, too, shall pass. Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day. How poor are they that have not patience? What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast. God grant us patience! Assume a virtue, if you have it not. The miserable have no medicine but hope. True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings; Kings it makes Gods, and meaner creatures kings. This above all: to thine own self be true. We cannot all be masters. Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Things done well and with care exempt themselves from fear. The worst is not so long as we can say, "This is the worst." Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we often might win, by fearing to attempt. Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Courage mounteth with occasion. But screw your courage to the sticking place and we'll not fail. Action is eloquence. Men at some time are masters of their fates. Much rain wears the marble. Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves. Sweet are the uses of adversity. There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting. If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. The course of true love never did run smooth. I love thee, I love but thee With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold And the stars grow old. A light heart lives long. Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. The play's the thing. What's done can't be undone. Sweet are the uses of adversity; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. An old man is twice a child. When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. Neither a borrower nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. Brevity is the soul of wit. God befriend us, as our cause is just! It is a wise father that knows his own child. There's small choice in rotten apples. The people are the city. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man. The soul of this man is his clothes. 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. I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm. He is well paid that is well satisfied. I must be cruel, only to be kind. I am dying, Egypt, dying. To die:—to sleep: No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it. Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. He that dies pays all debts. There is a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. He will give the devil his due. The prince of darkness is a gentleman. The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. Now is the Winter of our discontent. Let your own discretion be your tutor; suit the action to the word, the word to the action. The better part of valour is discretion. 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? Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. He hath eaten me out of house and home. Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest. The royal throne of kings, this scepter'd 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. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones. And oftentimes, excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,— As patches, set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault Than did the fault before it was so patched. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moonshine revellers, and shades of night. Sweets to the sweet; farewell! I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man. It is a wise father that knows his own child. O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. A fool's bolt is soon shot. Lord, what fools these mortals be! O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle. There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Frailty, thy name is woman! I am wealthy in my friends. The ripest fruit first falls. Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. Foul whisperings are abroad. He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Every one can master a grief but he that has it. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief. Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. How use doth breed a habit in a man! Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at; I am not what I am. The cunning livery of hell. Help me, Cassius, or I sink! Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arm, Quite vanquish'd him; then burst his mighty heart. That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true 'tis pity; And pity 'tis 'tis true. Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleas-ance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Jesters do often prove prophets. I am a Jew: Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with die same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? I wish you all the joy that you can wish. Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel! O wise young judge, how I do honor thee! Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. O judgment! thou are fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason! Are you good men and true? The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two Guiltier than him they try. This bond is forfeit; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh. Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. |