-All that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 2.
-Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.
Measure for Measure, Act I, Sc.5
-The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.
-This above all, to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
-Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em.
Twelfth Night – (see Joseph Heller)
-To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. – Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.
-There is some soul of goodness in things evil, would men observingly distill it out.
King Henry V
-Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
All’s Well That Ends Well, I:2
-Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Romeo and Juliet, II:2
-If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
Merchant of Venice, III:1
-There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
-If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then to me.
-Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
Twelfth Night, III:1
-If I lose mine honour, I lose myself.
Antony & Cleopatra, III:4
-It’s not enough to speak, but to speak true.
Midsummer Night’s Dream, V:1
-How poor are they that have not patience. What wounds did ever heal but by degrees.
-But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
What petty follies that they themselves commit.
-All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
-To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first.
-This day is called the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will, yearly on the vigil, feast his neighbours,
And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.”
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.”
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words –
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester –
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberéd –
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile*,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
-How my achievements mock me!
-We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
-If all the year were playing holidays, /To sport would be as tedious as to work.
-Be great in act, as you have been in thought.
-Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.