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William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare Books

Poet

Complete Works

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Four Late Plays

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Fırtına

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Great Sonnets

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Henry VI

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Henry VI, Part 1

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Henry viii

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Related Quotes

“How does your patient, doctor? Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest. Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart. Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.”

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Book:Macbeth
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“He stopped the flyers And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport. As weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obeyed And fell below his stem. His sword, Death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion Was timed with dying cries. Alone he entered The mortal gate o' th' city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioles like a planet. Now all's his, When by and by the dim of war gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit Requickened what in flesh was fatigate, And to the battle came he, where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men as if 'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we called Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting.”

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Book:Coriolanus
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“Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick. BEATRICE Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. DON PEDRO You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. BEATRICE So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools.”

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Book:Much Ado About Nothing
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“The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft. Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart! Be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom; And in thy best consideration check This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least, Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness.”

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Book:King Lear
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“More strange than true. I never may believe These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The 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. Such tricks hath strong imagination That if it would but apprehend some joy It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!”

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Book:A Midsummer Night’s Dream
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“মরকেশ ওর তবে, অম্নি হবে না, মন্তর পড়ে ডাকি। ও রোমিও হতভাগা, ও খ্যাপা উন্মাদ, ওরে বায়ু-পিত্তি-কফ, কোথা মত্তে গেলি? আয় একবার দেখা দে। নয় একটা দীর্ঘশ্বাস ফেলে জানান দে। একবারটি না হয় বল—উঃ উঃ প্রাণ যায়! না হয় বল—হা পীরিতি সুধার বোতল! না হয় সেই কাণা চোখো ঠাকুরটির কুচ্ছ দুটো গা— যিনি খুঁজে খুঁজে আর কাকেও না পেয়ে , জেলের মেয়েটাকে নেলান্ পরাশর ঋষিটা। কহ হে কিছু হচ্ছে না যে! নড়েও না কেউ তবে সেটা মলো নাকি রে— “ঘেউ ঘেউ”? এবার রসো, তবে আর একটা মন্ত্র ঝাড়ি, ফির্‌তে এতে, গিয়েও যদি থাকে যমের বাড়ী। হাঁ দ্যাখ তোকে তোর দিব্বি—সেই যার মাথায় চূড়ো। সেই উঁচু-কপালী ভাঁটাচোখী, গায়ে সাদাগুঁড়ো, সেই বেগুনি-রঙা ঠোঁটের দিব্বি একবার দেখা দে, না দিস তো সেটাকে যমকে ডেকে দে।”

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Book:Romeo and Juliet
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“Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn And broils roots out the work of masonry, Nor mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till judgement that yourself arise, You in this, and dwell in lovers eyes.”

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Book:Shakespeare's Sonnets
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“This business is well ended. My liege and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief. Your son is mad. Mad I call it. For, to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad? But let that go.”

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Book:Hamlet
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“Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day—and yet, I think, Few come within the compass of my curse,— Wherein I did not some notorious ill, As kill a man, or else devise his death, Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, Accuse some innocent and forswear myself, Set deadly enmity between two friends, Make poor men's cattle break their necks; Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly, And nothing grieves me heartily indeed But that I cannot do ten thousand more.”

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Book:Titus Andronicus
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