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Shakespeare quotes on sweetBut thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel But flowers distilled though Source: THE SONNETS 8 Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy 13 O that you were your self, but love you are No longer yours, than you your self here live, Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination, then you were Your self again after your self's decease, When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear To give away your self, keeps your self still, And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill 19 Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood, Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood, Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st, And do whate'er thou wilt swift-footed Time To the wide world and all her fading sweets 35 No more be grieved at that which thou hast done, Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud Such civil war is in my love and hate, That I an accessary needs must be, To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite, Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove, Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, To entertain the time with thoughts of love, Which Source: THE SONNETS If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss, Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross, But here's the joy, my friend and I are one, Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone 54 O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life 70 That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair, The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air 73 That time of year thou mayst in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine, and born of thee, In others' works thou dost but mend the style, And arts with thy sweet graces graced be But heaven in thy creation did decree, That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell, Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be, Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, They were but sweet, but figures of delight More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee Not that the summer is less pleasant now Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, But that wild music burthens every bough, And sweets grown common lose their dear delight Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st, Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st 135 Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus, More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill, Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.' 136 If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will', And will thy soul knows is admitted there, Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy store's account I one must be, For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold, That nothing me, a something sweet to thee 151 Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove 'Twas pretty, though a plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table-heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument; When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns And be as sweet as sharp Happy is your Grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am Therefore, beseech you- You that will be less fearful than discreet; That love the fundamental part of state More than you doubt the change on't; that prefer A noble life before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That's sure of death without it- at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick The sweet which is their poison Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave Thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweet'ned not thy breath But, gracious sir, Here are your sons again, and I must lose Two of the sweet'st companions in the world I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation; but call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince There's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasines Under the sweet shade of your government But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not; I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm What dream'd my lord? Tell me, and I'll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire, If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with; No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still If I depart from thee I cannot live; And in thy sight to die, what were it else But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe Dying with mother's dug between its lips; Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth; So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threat'ning look! Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die 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 Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks [Looking on the QUEEN] Heaven bless thee! Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not, But to those men that sought him sweet as summer And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence The foul corruption of a sweet child's death I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep My date of life out for his sweet life's loss keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array 'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage His eye begets occasion for his wit, For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor, Delivers in such apt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.' How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper- Sweet leaves, shade folly "Air," quoth he "thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn; Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, Youth so apt to pluck a sweet And among other importunate and most serious designs, and of great import indeed, too- but let that pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but, sweet heart, let that pass Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice, Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run dice! There's half a dozen sweets They will, they will, God knows, And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows; Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair, Blow like sweet roses in this summer air Pompey surnam'd the Great, That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat; And travelling along this coast, I bere am come by chance, And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic That's bitter to sweet end [Opening the leaden casket] What find I here? Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? Or whether riding on the balls of mine Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends Exit STEPHANO How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony Enter MUSICIANS Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear The reason is your spirits are attentive; For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood- If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze By the sweet power of music Nothing is good, I see, without respect; Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day Sickness is catching; O, were favour so, Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go! My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied! But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy Lie further off, in human modesty; Such separation as may well be said Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend And, most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy An he should, it were an alms to hang him! She's an excellent sweet lady, and (out of all suspicion) she is virtuous Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it What make you from home? How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet To please the King, I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome; And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour Your beauty was the cause of that effect- Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom great weeds do grow apace.' And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste Exit CATESBY When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence, So sweet is zealous contemplation Go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go; Make bold her bashful years with your experience; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale; Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys And in this state she 'gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear, And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new beloved anywhere; But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower, Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears, Or shut me nightly in a charnel house, O'ercover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud- Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble- And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love Mi perdonato, gentle master mine; I am in all affected as yourself; Glad that you thus continue your resolve To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, And with her breath she did perfume the air; Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her Say that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen, And now I find report a very liar; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? O sland'rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels And, honest company, I thank you all That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife Soud, soud, soud, soud! Re-enter SERVANTS with supper Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, An awful rule, and right supremacy; And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands; Curtsied when you have and kiss'd, The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there, And, sweet sprites, the burden bear He and myself Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts, And sweetly felt it My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past I'll find a day to massacre them all, And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life; And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.- Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this; Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care Read to her sons than she hath read to thee Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue? Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure Shall we stand up here and see them as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air is sweet I have forgot my father; I know no touch of consanguinity, No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me As the sweet Troilus Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth; But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth A goodly medicine for my aching bones! world! world! thus is the poor agent despis'd! traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov'd, and the performance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me see- Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; And being once subdu'd in armed trail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail That strain again! It had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd, Her sweet perfections, with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on I will forget that Julia is alive, Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend After your dire-lamenting elegies, Visit by night your lady's chamber window With some sweet consort; to their instruments Tune a deploring dump- the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her 'His qualities were beauteous as his form, For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; Yet if men moved him, was he such a storm As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be 'So many have, that never touched his hand, Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart Quotes for: Shakespeare Quotes
Source: Project Gutenburg Texts
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