Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
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.
Though she be but little, she is fierce!
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
To be or not to be that is the question.
He is as full of valor as of kindness. Princely in both.
Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of our generation you shall find.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.
Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you.
Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
In jest, there is truth.
Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
You have too much respect upon the world; They lose it that do buy it with much care.
O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
Suffer love! A good ephitet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.
There are occasions and causes, why and wherefore in all things.
There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered.