William Shakespeare

I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.

Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.Even now I curse the day__nd yet, I think,Few come within the compass of my curse,__herein I did not some notorious ill,As kill a man, or else devise his death,Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it,Accuse some innocent and forswear myself,Set deadly enmity between two friends,Make poor men's cattle break their necks;Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,And bid the owners quench them with their tears.Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful thingsAs willingly as one would kill a fly,And nothing grieves me heartily indeedBut that I cannot do ten thousand more.

In thy foul throat thou liest.

..What our contempt often hurls from us,We wish it our again; the present pleasure,By revolution lowering,does becomeThe opposite of itself..

An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star!

If it be now, __is not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come__he readiness is all.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow worldLike a Colossus, and we petty menWalk under his huge legs and peep aboutTo find ourselves dishonorable graves.Men at some time are masters of their fates.The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our starsBut in ourselves, that we are underlings.

There__ a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough-hew them how we will

Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.

Oh, I am fortune's fool!

If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening ...

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,Yet Grace must still look so.

Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is soordinary that the whippers are in love too.

Love moderately. Long love doth so.Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.*Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*

I drink to the general joy o_ the whole table." Macbeth

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

LEONATOWell, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.BEATRICENot till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a pierce of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.