Quotes to inspire and reflect

The “why” is plain as way to parish church.

If ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it.

I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please.

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial.

Motley’s the only wear.

And so, from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale.

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-luster eye, Says very wisely, “It is ten o’clock; Thus may we see,” quoth he, “how the world wags.” 27

I met a fool i’ the forest, A motley fool.

Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i’ the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas’d with what he gets.

Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

If you remember’st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not lov’d.

Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly.

Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion.

And He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age!

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.

Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens.

The big round tears Cours’d one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase.

Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court?

Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have.

Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

Heavenly Rosalind!

One out of suits with fortune.

My pride fell with my fortunes.

What’s the new news at the new court?

His life was gentle, and the elements So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, “This was a man!”

This was the noblest Roman of them all.

The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!

O! that a man might know The end of this day’s business, ere it come.

O Julius Caesar! thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords In our own proper entrails.

Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then, this parting was well made.

But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, And leave them honeyless.

We must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity.

All his faults observ’d, Set in a notebook, learn’d, and conn’d by rote.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; For I am arm’d so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not.

I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.

I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish.

When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

An itching palm.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men’s blood: I only speak right on.

Put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man.

What private griefs they have, alas! I know not.

This was the most unkindest cut of all.