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Quotation Search
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- Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
- William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Hamlet", Act 1 scene 4
- The attempt and not the deed
Confounds us. - William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Macbeth", Act 2 scene 2
- 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. - William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Macbeth", Act 5 scene 5
- 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. - William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Macbeth", Act 1 scene 3
- 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. - William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Julius Caesar", Act 3 scene 2
- Et tu, Brute!
- William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Julius Caesar", Act 3 scene 1
- We have seen better days.
- William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Timon of Athens", Act 4 scene 2
- This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. - William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Romeo and Juliet", Act 2 scene 2
- '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. - William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "King Henry VIII", Act 2 scene 3
- 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. - William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "King Richard III", Act 1 scene 1
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