William Shakespeare

"You gotta be cruel to be kind."

"Brutus: Kneel not, gentle Portia. Portia: I should need not, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife."

"My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease;Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love,Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,Desire his death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care,And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,At random from the truth vainly express'd;For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,Who art as black as hell, as dark as night."

"n sooth, I know not why I am so sad:It wearies me; you say it wearies you;But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,I am to learn;And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,That I have much ado to know myself."

"Ram. My lord constable, the armor that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or suns upon it?Con. Stars, my lord. Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. Con. And yet my sky shall not want. Dau. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honor some were away. Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted. Henry V, 3.7.69-78"

"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 remembered-We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;For he to-day 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 accurs'd they were not here,And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day"

"More grief to hide than hate to utter love. Polonius, Hamlet."

"If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'this poet lies! Such heaven never touched earthly faces"

"O mother, mother!What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!You have won a happy victory to Rome;But, for your son,--believe it, O, believe it,Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,If not most mortal to him."

"The rest is silence."

"And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!"

"Fear no more the heat o' the sun,Nor the furious winter's rages;"

"Mother, I will look to like. If looking liking moves."

"Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy,For so your doctors hold it very meet,Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your blood,And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy. Therefore they thought it good you hear a play,And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,Which bars a thousand harms and lenghtens life."

"I have drunk,and seen the spider."(Leontine, Act II Scene I)"

"Benedick: I protest I love thee. Beatrice: Why, then, God forgive me!Benedick: What offence, sweet Beatrice?Beatrice: You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about toprotest I loved you. Benedick: And do it with all thy heart. Beatrice: I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."

"We number nothing that we spend for you;Our duty is so rich, so infinite,That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,That we, like savages, may worship it."

"Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts."

"Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die,Take him and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun."

"For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd 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 enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli like a planet: now all's his: When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit Re-quicken'd 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 call'd Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting."