I have heard of your paintings well enough. God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
To be, or not to be: that is the question.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
This above all: to thine own self be true.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
Give me that man that is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him in my heart’s core.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
The plays the thing wherein Ill catch the conscience of the king.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
This is the very ecstasy of love.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.
O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
I loved you not.
No, I did love you once.
O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio.
What a piece of work is man!
To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.
Ay, there’s the rub.
The rest is silence.
Give me the man that is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him in my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart.
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
There’s millions now alive that nightly lie in those unproper beds.
Wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword.
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough.
Like sweet bells jangled out of time and harsh.
I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.
That’s a fair thought to lie between maids legs.
Words, words, words.
I hold my duty as I hold my soul, both to my God and to my gracious King.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keep.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
There’s a divinity that shapes our ends.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
I have heard of your paintings well enough. God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
To be, or not to be: that is the question.
Frailty, thy name is woman!
This above all: to thine own self be true.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
Give me that man that is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him in my heart’s core.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
The plays the thing wherein Ill catch the conscience of the king.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
This is the very ecstasy of love.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.
O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
I loved you not.
No, I did love you once.
O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio.
What a piece of work is man!
To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.
Ay, there’s the rub.
The rest is silence.
Give me the man that is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him in my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart.
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
There’s millions now alive that nightly lie in those unproper beds.
Wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.
I must be cruel only to be kind.
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword.
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough.
Like sweet bells jangled out of time and harsh.
I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.
That’s a fair thought to lie between maids legs.
Words, words, words.
I hold my duty as I hold my soul, both to my God and to my gracious King.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keep.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
There’s a divinity that shapes our ends.
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
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