Relationships and Family

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is To have a thankless child!

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous, when thou show’st thee in a child, Than the sea-monster.

My love’s More richer than my tongue.

She was as false as water.

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!

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.

An old black ram Is tupping your white ewe.

Take, O take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal’d in vain, seal’d in vain. 43

Take, O take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal’d in vain, seal’d in vain. 43

Love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises.

The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love.

It were all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me.

Love sought is good, but giv’n unsought is better.

I may command where I adore.

I am all the daughters of my father’s house, And all the brothers too.

Duke: And what’s her history? Viola: A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.

Then, let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; For women are as roses, whose fair flower Being once display’d, doth fall that very hour.

Let still the woman take An elder than herself, so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband’s heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women’s are.

If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are: Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is belov’d.

Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know.