A To Z Cool Job Categories

Search for Cool Jobs Jobs by Careerjet

William Shakespeare

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain.

And since you know you cannot see yourself,
so well as by reflection, I, your glass,
will modestly discover to yourself,
that of yourself which you yet know not of.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not.

Be great in act, as you have been in thought.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind,
As man's ingratitude.

Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood.

For they are yet ear-kissing arguments.

Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger
constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment,
not working with the eye without the ear,
and but in purged judgement trusting neither?
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.

Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
Till by broad spreading it disperses to naught.

God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

He who has injured thee was either stronger or weaker than thee. If weaker, spare him; if stronger, spare thyself.

His life was gentle; and the elements
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees.

How use doth breed a habit in a man.

I am not bound to please thee with my answers.

I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound'.

I dote on his very absence.

I feel within me a peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience.

I hate ingratitude more in a man
than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
inhabits our frail blood.

I must be cruel only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

I pray thee cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
as water in a sieve.

I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

I wish you well and so I take my leave,
I Pray you know me when we meet again.

Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.

In a false quarrel there is no true valour.

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility.

In time we hate that which we often fear.

It is not enough to help the feeble up, but to support him after.

Lady you bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins,
And there is such confusion in my powers.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; take honour from me and my life is done.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.

Our bodies are our gardens to which our wills are gardeners.

Pity is the virtue of the law, and none but tyrants use it cruelly.

Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear.

See first that the design is wise and just: that ascertained, pursue it resolutely; do not for one repulse forego the purpose that you resolved to effect.

So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him!

Strong reasons make strong actions.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.

Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, like a toad, though ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in its head.

The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.

The sands are number'd that make up my life.

The soul of this man is in his clothes.

The trust I have is in mine innocence,
and therefore am I bold and resolute.

Their understanding
Begins to swell and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores
That now lie foul and muddy.

Thou art all the comfort,
The Gods will diet me with.

Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge of thine own cause.

Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance.

Thy words, I grant are bigger, for I wear not, my dagger in my mouth.

Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.

We are advertis'd by our loving friends.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.

We know what we are, but not what we may be.

When griping grief the heart doth wound,
and doleful dumps the mind opresses,
then music, with her silver sound,
with speedy help doth lend redress.

When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools.

While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.

You cram these words into mine ears against the stomach of my sense.

For aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear.

My salad days,
When I was green in judgment.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety.

Small to greater matters must give way.

I have liv'd in such dishonour that the gods
Detest my baseness.

I have
Immortal longings in me.

Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

The little foolery that wise men have makes a great show.

I met a fool i' the forest,
A motley fool.

True is it that we have seen better days.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

No, 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world.

A little more than kin, and less than kind.

He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honoured in the breach than the observance.

Every man has business and desire,
Such as it is.

Leave her to heaven
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

The devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape.

The play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.

What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god!

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go.

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.

O, woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep:
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--'t is a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Hamlet: Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
Polonius: By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed.
Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel.
Polonius: It is backed like a weasel.
Hamlet: Or like a whale?
Polonius: Very like a whale.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:

Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,
A brother's murder.

For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard...

I must be cruel, only to be kind:
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now; your gambols, your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

Let me have men about me that are fat,
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights:
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

How many ages hence
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.

There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.

If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work.

He hath eaten me out of house and home.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.

There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things.

The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea.

And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak.

IT is better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

Although the last, not least.

Nothing will come of nothing.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child!

Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.

The worst is not
So long as we can say, "This is the worst."

Pray you now, forget and forgive.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,--
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,--
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.

An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.

He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.

They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it.

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence.

Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

The attempt and not the deed
Confounds us.

By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks!

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt.

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.

The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good.

They say, best men are moulded out of faults,
And, for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad.

Truth is truth
To the end of reckoning.

What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.

Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love:
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negotiate for itself
And trust no agent.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.

I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I.

What a deformed thief this fashion is.

I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at.

I am not merry; but I do beguile
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know 't, and he's not robb'd at all.
[info][add][mail]
William Shakespeare, "Othello", Act 3 scene 3
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.

O, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!

Speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.

I understand a fury in your words,
But not the words.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.

When he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.

My meaning in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient.

It is a wise father that knows his own child.

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'T is mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That in the course of justice none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt.


Buy CV Buzz Words ,Sample Personal Profile and Over 100 Cool Interview Questions and Answers [New ] for £9.99