William Shakespeare


English Playwright, Poet, Most widely known Writer in English Literature

Author Quotes

Small have continual plodders ever won Save base authority from others' books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights That give a name to every fixed star Have no more profit of their shining nights Than those that walk and wot not what they are. Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.

So dear I love him that with him, All deaths I could endure. Without him, live no life.

So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps.

So may the outward shows be least themselves. The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt but, being seasoned with a gracious voice, obscures the show of evil? In religion, what damnèd error, but some sober brow will bless it and approve it with a text, hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts. How many cowards whose hearts are all as false as stairs of sand wear yet upon their chins the beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, who, inward searched, have livers white as milk, and these assume but valor’s excrement to render them redoubted. Look on beauty, and you shall see ’tis purchased by the weight, which therein works a miracle in nature, making them lightest that wear most of it. So are those crispèd snaky golden locks which maketh such wanton gambols with the wind, upon supposèd fairness, often known to be the dowry of a second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulcher. Thus ornament is but the guilèd shore to a most dangerous sea, the beauteous scarf veiling an Indian beauty—in a word, the seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest. Therefore then, thou gaudy gold, hard food for Midas, I will none of thee. Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge ‘tween man and man. But thou, thou meagre lead, which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught, thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, and here choose I. Joy be the consequence! Merchant of Venice, Act iii, Scene 2

So soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him.

So we'll live, and pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too— who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out— and take upon 's the mystery of things, as if we were God's spies.

Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! — Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd.

Some men there are love not a gaping pig, some that are mad if they behold a cat, and others when the bagpipe sings I the nose cannot contain their urine. Merchant of Venice, Act iv, Scene 1

Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or tow And sleeps again.

Sound drums and trumpets! Farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

Speak, hands, for me!

She'll not be hit with Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit, and, in strong proof of chastity well-armed, from Love's weak childish bow she lives unharmed. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.

Show his eyes and grieve his heart.

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

Since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Dost think because thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Sir, the year growing ancient, not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.

Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.

Small herbs have grace, great weeds to grow apace.

So did this horse excel a common one in shape, in courage, color, pace and bone...What a horse should have he did not lack, save a proud rider on so proud a back.

So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied. All's Well That Ends Well (Helena at II, i)

So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.

Soft you, a word or two before you go.

Author Picture
First Name
Last Name
Birth Date
Death Date

English Playwright, Poet, Most widely known Writer in English Literature