Relationships and Family

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

I may command where I adore.

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.

What is love? ’tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth’s a stuff will not endure.

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

Farewell, fair cruelty.

The kiss you take is better than you give.

As many farewells as be stars in heaven.

Time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretch’d, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing.

For to be wise, and love, Exceeds man’s might; that dwells with gods above.

I lov’d Ophelia: forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.

False as dicers’ oaths.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; When little fears grow great, great love grows there.

To the noble mind Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! My tables—meet it is I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark.

O my prophetic soul! My uncle!

All is not well; I doubt some foul play.