What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. The violence of either grief or joy Their own enactures with themselves destroy: Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
I do believe you think what now you speak; But what we do determine oft we break. Purpose is but the slave to memory. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
Give me that man That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow’s shadow. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
Dreams, indeed, are ambition, for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
To expostulate what majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! My tables — meet it is I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
Remember thee! Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix’d with baser matter: yes, by heaven! William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whiles, like a puff’d and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede. William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
