Quotes to inspire and reflect

Our new heraldry is hands not hearts.

But this denoted a foregone conclusion.

Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For ’tis of aspics’ tongues!

Take note, take note, O world! To be direct and honest is not safe.

On horror’s head horrors accumulate.

Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof.

No hinge nor loop To hang a doubt on.

He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n, Let him not know ’t and he’s not robb’d at all.

O! now, forever Farewell the tranquil mind; farewell content! Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove’s dread clamors counterfeit, Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!

Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow’dst yesterday.

Trifles light as air Are to the jealous confirmations strong As proofs of holy writ.

I am declin’d Into the vale of years.

O curse of marriage! That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites. I had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapor of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses.

I humbly do beseech you of your pardon For too much loving you.

If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I’d whistle her off and let her down the wind, To prey at fortune.

Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.

Think’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved.

O! beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O! what damned minutes tells he o’er Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet soundly loves!

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.

Speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words.

Men should be what they seem.

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

Play the villain.

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter.

But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

Silence that dreadful bell! it frights the isle From her propriety.

Potations pottle deep.

Egregiously an ass.

If it were now to die, ’Twere now to be most happy.

Iago: To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. Desdemona: O most lame and impotent conclusion!

She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud.

I am not merry, but I do beguile The thing I am by seeming otherwise.

For I am nothing if not critical.

You are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wildcats in your kitchens, Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.

The enchafed flood.

One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens.

The robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief.

Framed to make women false.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.

I do perceive here a divided duty.

And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.

Hills whose heads touch heaven.

Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth ’scapes i’ the imminent deadly breach.

Still question’d me the story of my life From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes That I have pass’d.

Little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver Of my whole course of love.

A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush’d at herself.

Rude am I in my speech, And little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace.