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Shakespeare quotes on soulGilding the object whereupon it gazeth, A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words Source: THE SONNETS 109 O never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seemed my flame to qualify, As easy might I from my self depart, As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie Hapless, Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd To bear the extremity of dire mishap! Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, Which princes, would they, may not disannul, My soul should sue as advocate for thee A devil in an everlasting garment hath him; One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel; A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough; A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff; A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well; One that, before the Judgment, carries poor souls to hell 'Tis a knavish piece of work; but what o' that? Your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not Soft! now to my mother! O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites- How in my words somever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit [So haply slander-] Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, As level as the cannon to his blank, Transports his poisoned shot- may miss our name And hit the woundless air.- O, come away! My soul is full of discord and dismay We Source: THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK My blood hath been too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, And you have found me, for accordingly You tread upon my patience; but be sure I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, And therefore lost that title of respect Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud By God, he shall not have a Scot of them! No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not He writes me here that inward sickness- And that his friends by deputation could not So soon be drawn; no did he think it meet To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any soul remov'd but on his own O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads, And that no man might draw short breath to-day But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, How show'd his tasking? Seem'd it in contempt? No, by my soul O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts, Possess them not with fear! Take from them now The sense of reck'ning, if th' opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them! Not to-day, O Lord, O, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard's body have interred new, And on it have bestowed more contrite tears Than from it issued forced drops of blood; Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee; Blood will I draw on thee-thou art a witch And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st this brawl to-day, Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, Shall send between the Red Rose and the White A thousand souls to death and deadly night Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament To rive their dangerous artillery Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot Come, side by side together live and die; And soul with soul from France to heaven fly But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk, Say as you think, and speak it from your souls Wither, garden, and be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee! And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him, To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck- To see this sight, it irks my very soul O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings, Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope And give sweet passage to my sinful soul Take good heed You charge not in your spleen a noble person And spoil your nobler soul You few that lov'd me And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me like good angels to my end; And as the long divorce of steel falls on me Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven O, God's will! much better She ne'er had known pomp; though't be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing Saba was never More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue Than this pure soul shall be Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father! Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell 'Tis wonderful What may be wrought out of their discontent, Now that their souls are topful of offence You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to this land, Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; And come ye now to tell me John hath made His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me? I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne, What men provided, what munition sent, To underprop this action? Is 't not I That undergo this charge? Who else but I, And such as to my claim are liable, Sweat in this business and maintain this war? Have I not heard these islanders shout out 'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns? Have I not here the best cards for the game To will this easy match, play'd for a crown? And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible; Mirth cannot move a soul in agony Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls your scope is as mine own, So to enforce or qualify the laws As to your soul seems good When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve, Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted That his soul sicken not Beshrew me, but I love her heartily, For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul First go with me to church and call me wife, And then away to Venice to your friend; For never shall you lie by Portia's side With an unquiet soul So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, Ere I will yield my virgin patent up Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke My soul consents not to give sovereignty Having once this juice, I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, And drop the liquor of it in her eyes; The next thing then she waking looks upon, Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, She shall pursue it with the soul of love A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes With your derision! None of noble sort Would so offend a virgin, and extort A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honors and his valiant parts Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate Well, God's above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul By this time, had the King permitted us, One of our souls had wand'red in the air, Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land- Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul my grief lies all within; And these external manner of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things That now give evidence against my soul For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me! O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee, But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone; O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep [DERBY rises] But for my brother not a man would speak; Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure- If you will presently take horse with him And with all speed post with him toward the north To shun the danger that his soul divines Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward! He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed, But on his knees at meditation; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines; Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul I am not made of stones, But penetrable to your kind entreaties, Albeit against my conscience and my soul Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing- O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces! O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow'd and The fraughting souls within her Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed, For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd, And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks, Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt] For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl- A sight to vex the father's soul withal See, see, your silence, Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws My very soul of counsel Cesario, Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd To thee the book even of my secret soul Tell her my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune; But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul When that is known, and golden time convents, A solemn combination shall be made Of our dear souls I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium Thou art not ignorant what dear good will I bear unto the banish'd Valentine; Nor how my father would enforce me marry Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort as it is Now piercing to my soul Quotes for: Shakespeare Quotes
Source: Project Gutenburg Texts
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