Quotes to inspire and reflect

Some of us will smart for it.

Patch griefs with proverbs.

Charm ache with air and agony with words.

O! what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal.

For it so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours.

Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself And trust no agent.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never.

Grow like savages—as soldiers will, That nothing do but meditate on blood.

The naked, poor, and mangled Peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births.

This day is call’d the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d. And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.

O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts; Possess them not with fear; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them.

But if it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive.

What infinite heart’s ease Must kings neglect that private men enjoy! And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idol 22 ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in? O ceremony! show me but thy worth.

’Tis not the balm, the scepter and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running ’fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body fill’d and vacant mind Gets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful bread.

A little touch of Harry in the night.

There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distill it out.

The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix’d sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other’s watch: Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other’s umber’d face: Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents The armorers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.

We are in God’s hand.

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot: Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge Cry “God for Harry! England and Saint George!”

I thought upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favor’d rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.

And sheath’d their swords for lack of argument.

Trust none; For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck.

That’s the humor of it.

O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honor would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural!

Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.

’Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.

Many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously; As many arrows, loosed several ways, Fly to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial’s center; So may a thousand actions, once afoot, End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat.

Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavor in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honeybees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom.

The singing masons building roofs of gold.

Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say it hath been all in all his study.

Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, The air, a charter’d libertine, is still.

Consideration like an angel came, And whipp’d the offending Adam out of him.

Or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt?

I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers; How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!

O! for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention!

His cares are now all ended.

This is the English, not the Turkish court; Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, But Harry Harry.

Commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways.

Before thy hour be ripe.

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object!

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought!

O polish’d perturbation! golden care! That keep’st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night!

We ready are to try our fortunes To the last man.

We see which way the stream of time doth run And are enforc’d from our most quiet sphere By the rough torrent of occasion.

There is a history in all men’s lives.

O God! that one might read the book of fate.