William Shakespeare: Citáty v angličtine (page 28)

“Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.”

“Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.”

“She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.”

“How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank
Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony”

“He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:
And you all know, security
Is mortals' chiefest enemy.”

“For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all”

“Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!”

“He is the half part of a blessed man,
Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.”

“Nothing can come of nothing.”

“I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust: to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish.”

“What win I if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?”

“You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!”

“He kills her in her own humor.”

“How low am I, thou painted maypole?
(Hermia to Helena)”

“O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!”

“Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand,
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

“We came into the world like brother and brother,
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.”

“The chains of habit are generally too small to be felt until they are too strong to be broken.”

“He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.”