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Shakespeare Quotes from The Tempest
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't.— filed under Beauty
On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily.— filed under Birds-Blackbird
Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, cock-a-diddle-dow.— filed under Birds-Canary
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnished me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.— filed under Books
I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates Against my life.— filed under Conspiracy
O conspiracy, Sham'st thou to show thy dang'rous brow by night, When evils are most free? Julius Cæsar. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 76. Open-eye conspiracy His time doth take.— filed under Conspiracy
By this good light, this is a very shallow monster!-I afear'd of him!-A very weak monster!-The man i' the moon!-A most poor, credulous monster!-Well drawn, monster, in good sooth!— filed under Cowardice-Cowards
He that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death. Julius Cæsar. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 101. He that dies pays all debts.— filed under Death
The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.— filed under Death
This is a devil, and no monster; I will leave him; I have no long spoon.— filed under Dew
We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.— filed under Dreams
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.— filed under Eyes
Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly.— filed under Fairies
Here's my hand. And mine, with my heart in't: and now farewell, Till half an hour hence.— filed under Farewell
You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate; the elements Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume.— filed under Fate
I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star; whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.— filed under Fortune
For several virtues Have I lik'd several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, And put it to the foil.— filed under Gratitude
Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.— filed under Help
How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!— filed under Herbage
You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow and be merry: Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing.— filed under Holidays
Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!— filed under Insanity
I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valour that they smote the air For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet.— filed under Intemperance
XI. L. 834. The isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.— filed under Jealousy
You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language!— filed under Language
He furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.— filed under Libraries
How sharp the point of this remembrance is!— filed under Memory
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.— filed under Merriment
น. Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.— filed under Misery
The first of April, some do say, Is set apart for All Fools' day; But why the people call it so, Nor I, nor they themselves, do know. Poor Robin's Almanac. 1760. All Fools' Day. Spongy April.— filed under Months-April
S. L. 83. This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air.— filed under Music
I do beseech you- Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers- What is your name?— filed under Nature
And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night.— filed under Occupations-Alchemy
You rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster.— filed under Occupations-Medicine
Past What's past is prologue.— filed under Patience
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigged, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively have quit it.— filed under Sickness
O, I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessei, 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 perished.— filed under Sickness
The thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pro nounc'd The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass.— filed under Tides
Our revels now are ended. These, our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind.— filed under Voice
Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.— filed under Wit