Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

An overflow of good converts to bad.

“And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

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.

Like madness is the glory of life.

God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another.

There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the floud, leads on to fortune ommitted, all the voyage of their lives are bound in shallows and in miseries.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones.”

“God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.”

“All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold.”

Listen to many, speak to a few.

I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.

Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

Thus I die. Thus, thus, thus. Now I am dead, Now I am fled, My soul is in the sky. Tongue, lose thy light. Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die.

Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.

There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends.

Always the wrong person gives you the right lesson in life.”

“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.”

Don’t waste your love on somebody, who doesn’t value it.

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.

If music be the food of love, play on.

“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.”

“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.

O, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.

I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?

If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.

I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.

“I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum

Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”