More Quotes by William Shakespeare
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! If thou beest slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still.
Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
Mercy but murders pardoning those who kill.
Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
Love does not see with the eyes, but with the soul.
Brevity is the soul of wit
Listen to many, speak to a few.
Out of this wood do not desire to go; Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.
Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.
