Quotes to inspire and reflect

The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor.

I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul remembering my good friends.

The ripest fruit first falls.

Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows.

England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune.

That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation.

For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short.

The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

Enforce attention like deep harmony.

Where’er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish’d, yet a true-born Englishman.

O! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king.

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief?

How long a time lies in one little word!

Truth hath a quiet breast.

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

We were not born to sue, but to command.

The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation.

Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.

Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.

This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

I beg cold comfort.

Now my soul hath elbow-room.

The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of tomorrow.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death.

I am amaz’d, methinks, and lose my way Among the thorns and dangers of this world.

Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith.

Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds Makes ill deeds done!

Another lean unwash’d artificer.

Make haste; the better foot before.

We cannot hold mortality’s strong hand.

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achiev’d by others’ death.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

And oftentimes excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.

As quiet as a lamb.

A scepter snatch’d with an unruly hand Must be as boisterously maintain’d as gain’d; And he that stands upon a slippery place Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.

When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye.

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

Death, death: O, amiable lovely death!

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul.

Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back.

The sun’s o’ercast with blood: fair day, adieu! Which is the side that I must go withal? I am with both: each army hath a hand; And in their rage, I having hold of both, They whirl asunder and dismember me.