Quotes William Shakespeare - page 3

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Seems,\

Seems," madam? Nay, it is; I know not "seems." 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty. To you I am bound for life and education. My life and education both do learn me How to respect you. You are the lord of my duty, I am hitherto your daughter. But here’s my husband, And so much duty as my mother showed To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor my lord.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.

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Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done? Aaron: That which thou canst not undo. Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother. Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.

There was a star danced, and under that was I born.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.

So loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven, Visit her face' too roughly.

And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.

And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.

In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.

Which means she to deceive, father or mother?

Abandon all remorse; On horror's head horrors accumulate.

My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!

What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within's two hours.

Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.

Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever of hardiness is mother.

The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.

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Hardness ever of hardness is mother.

Hardness ever of hardness is mother.

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime...

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