Every human feeling, answered by Shakespeare: an 1892 dictionary that files the Bard's best lines under the passions they express — from Ambition to Woe.
109 passages from Dictionary of Shakespearian Quotations (1892), each filed under the passion it answers.
A braver choice of dauntless spirits Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, Did never float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath in Christendom. The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, K.Jül To parley, or to fight; therefore prepare. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds, Whose leisure & have staid, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident.— filed under Army
All the unsettled humours of the land,- Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, - Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make a hazard of new fortunes here.— filed under Army
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say, there is no sin, but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be,— filed under Beggars
What cracker is this same, which deafs our ears— filed under Braggarts
With this abundance of superfluous breath? Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks and seas; Talks as familiarly of roaring lions, As maids of thirteen do of puppy dogs.— filed under Braggarts
By east and west, let France and England mount Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths; Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'd play incessantly upon these jades. Ev'n till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.— filed under Cannonade
Commodity, the bias of the world; The world, who of itself is poised well, Made to run even upon even ground; Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, This sway of motion, this commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, From a resolv'd and honourable war, To a most base and vile concluded peace.— filed under Commodity
By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence;— filed under Difficulties Of
Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviour from the great, Grow great by your example, and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. Away; and glister like the god of war, When he intendeth to become the field: , Show boldness and aspiring confidence. What, shall they seek the lion in his den, shall they seek the lion in his den, And fright him there? and make him tremble there? O, let it not be said ! Forage, and run To meet displeasure further from the doors; And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.— filed under Ourage
That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone, upholds the day.— filed under Ourage
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes ill deeds done!— filed under Crimes
Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils that take leave,— filed under Crisis
France, thou mayest hold a serpent by the tongue, A cased lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tyger safer by the tooth Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.— filed under Danger
It is too late; the life of all this blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling house,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretel the ending of mortality.— filed under Death
I have the patience to endure it now. O amiable, lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness ! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy détestable bones; And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows; And ring these fingers with thy household worms; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st; And buss thee as thy wife? Misery's love, O, come to me!— filed under Death
We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.— filed under Death
Prince Henry. How fares your Majesty? King John.-Poison'd, -ill fare;-dead, forsook, cast off: And none of you will bid the winter come, And thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north To make his break winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold: I do not ask you much I beg cold comfort. [Enter Falconbridge O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair: My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be utter'd; And then all this thou see'st is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty.— filed under Death
From sun to sun. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say; By heaven, I think my sword as sharp as yours: I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.— filed under Defiance
O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing I am the cygnet to this pale-fac'd swan, Who chaunts a doleful hymn to his own death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.— filed under Delirium Of The Dying
There's nothing in this world can make me joy; Life is as tedious as a twice told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.— filed under Despair
No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death.— filed under Desperation
I am not mad; I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget!— filed under Despondency
Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself.— filed under Despondency
It lies as sightly on the back of him, As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass.— filed under Distinction
Strike up the drums: and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest.— filed under Drums
Do but stir An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd, That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; Sound but another, and another shall, As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, And mock the deep mouth'd thunder.— filed under Drums
- (THE) CROWNS THE MEANS. Near, or far off, well won is still well shot.— filed under End
I will no more return, Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, And coops from other lands her islanders; Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king.— filed under England
This England never did, (nor never shall) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itse'f. * Nought shall make us rue— filed under England
But see thy fault! O nation, that thou could'st remove! That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, And grapple thee unto a pagan shore.— filed under England
When workmen strive to do better than well, They do confound their skill in covetousness: And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault, Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse; As patches set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.— filed under Excuses Sometimes Improper
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust Govern the motion of a kingly eye.— filed under Fear
I am sick and capable of fears; Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; A woman, naturally born to fears.— filed under Fear
Sweet poison for the age's tooth.— filed under Fiattery
When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye.— filed under Fortune
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels. That strumpet, Fortune.— filed under Fortune
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not such a gracious creature born. But now will canker scrrow eat my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek; And he will look as hollow as a ghost, As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of herven I shall not know him: therefore, never, never, Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.— filed under Grief
He talks to me that never had a son.— filed under Grief
Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.- I will not keep this form upon my head, When there is such disorder in my wit. O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure!— filed under Grief
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd, Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. J.Ciz All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral: Our instruments, to melancholy bells: Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast; Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary.— filed under Rief
think they should lay him i' the cold ground. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Do glew themselves in sociable grief; Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity.— filed under Rief
There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.— filed under Rief
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist; Turning, with splendour of his precious eye, The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold: The yearly course, that brings this day about, Shall never see it but a holyday.— filed under Holiday
By my christendom, So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be merry as the day is long.— filed under Imprisonment
Shall we, upon the footing of our land, Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, Insinuation, parley, and base truce, To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, A cocker'd silken wanton brave our fields, And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, Mocking the air with colours idly spread, And find no check?— filed under Invasion
St. George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since, Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence!— filed under Invocation
When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again: And with my hand at midnight held your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time; Saying,-What lack you?-and, - Where lies your grief?— filed under Kindness
the realm. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady: Good-den, Sir Richard, God-a-mercy, fellow;- And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too respective, and too sociable,— filed under Knighthood
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,— filed under Laughter
Sirrah, your brother is legitimate: Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him: And if she did play false, the fault was her's; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands— filed under Legitimacy
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart!— filed under Love
Of Nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose.— filed under Lover's Vows
Mad world, mad kings, mad composition.....— filed under Madness
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report, I will be there; The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.— filed under Messenger
When we were happy, we had other names.— filed under Misfortune
This inundation of mistemper'd humour.— filed under Mob
Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.— filed under Money
The sun is on the heaven; and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton.— filed under Morning
Even so must I run on, and even so stop.— filed under Mortality
There is no sure foundation set on blood; No certain life achiev'd by others' death.— filed under Murder
This is the bloodiest shame, The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke, That ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage, Presented to the tears of soft remorse.— filed under Murder
Hubert. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. King John.-O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal Witness against us to damnation! How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, This murder had not come into my mind: But, taking note of thy abhor'd aspéct, Finding thee fit for bloody villany, Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spake darkly what I purposed; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, As bid me tell my tale in express words; Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me; But thou didst understand me by my signs, And didst in signs again parley with sin; Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, And, consequently, thy rude hand to act The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.- Out of my sight, and never see me more!— filed under Murder, Richard The Second
Old men, and beldams, in the streets Do prophesy upon it dangerously; Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear: And he that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist; Whilst he that hears, makes fearful action, With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, Shakespeacian Dictionary. NEWS, continued, The whilst the iron did on the anvil cool, With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) Told of a many thousand warlike French, That were embattalled and rank'd in Kent; Another lean unwash'd artificer Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.— filed under News
News, fitted to the night: Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.— filed under News
That ever yet they heard. My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered.— filed under News
For he is but a bastard to the time, That doth not smack of observation.— filed under Observation
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,— filed under Palliation
He cheers them up too. 'Tis such as you, That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh At each his needless heavings, such as you Nourish the cause of his awakings: I Do come with words as med'cinal as true, Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour That presses him from sleep. It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves, that take their humour for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life; And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law: to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon honour than advis'd respect.— filed under Parasites
Peace be to France; if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own! If not; bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven.— filed under Peace
Still, in thy right hand, carry gentle peace. H VIII. iii. 2. My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, And make fair weather in your blust'ring land. K.J.v.l * Thy threatening colours now wind up, And tame the savage spirit of wild war; That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace, And be no further harmful than in show.— filed under Peace
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd. The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,— filed under Penitence
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this tempest.— filed under Peril
Have is have, however men do catch.— filed under Possession
I am too high-born to be property'd, To be a secondary at controul, Or useful serving-man, and instrument, To any sovereign.— filed under Pride
No natural exhalation in the sky, No scape of nature, no distemper'd day, No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,— filed under Prodigies
For at hand, Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath used rather for sport than need, Is warlike John.— filed under Promptitude
Strong reasons make strong actions.— filed under Reason
Noble English, you are bought and sold; Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith.— filed under Rebellion
In this, the antique and well noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured: And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, It makes the course of thought to fetch about: Startles and frights consideration; Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.— filed under Regal Ceremonies
TURE). It is religion that doth make vows kept.— filed under Religion
Legitimation, name, and all is gone.— filed under Renunciation
O God! I fear, thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this. R. III. ii. 1. For this down-trodden equity, we tread, In warlike march, these greens before your town.— filed under Retribution
Such is the infection of the time, That for the health and physic of our right, We cannot deal but with the very hand Of stern injustice and confused wrong.— filed under Revolution
Old men, and beldams, in the streets Do prophecy upon it dangerously.— filed under Rulers
Tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challeng'd it, Or shall we give the signal to our rage, And stalk in blood to our possession?— filed under Siege
Girdled with a waist of iron, And hemm'd about with grim destruction. H. VI. PT. 1. iv. 3 These flags of France, that are advanced here, Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls.— filed under Siege
I pray you, bear me hence From forth the noise and rumour of the field; Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts In peace, and part this body and my-soul With contemplation and devout desires.— filed under Soldier
O, if you teach me to believe this sorrow, Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die. And let belief and life encounter so, As doth the fury of two desperate men, Which, in their very meeting, fall, and die.— filed under Sorrow
How ill all's here about my heart! H.v.2 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. To me, and to the state of my great grief, Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great, 0 That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up; here I and sorrow sit;— filed under Sorrow
And yet words are no deeds. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentleman.— filed under Speech
O, I am scalded with my violent motion And spleen of speed to see your majesty.— filed under Speed
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.— filed under Spirits
But even this night,-whose black contagious breath Already smokes about the burning crest Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, -— filed under Sun Setting
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.— filed under Superfluity
Let me wipe off this honourable dew, That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks: TEARS,--continued, My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, Being an ordinary inundation; But this effusion of such manly drops, This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven— filed under Tears
Old Time, the clock setter, that bald sexton, Time, Is it as he will?— filed under Time
Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, And tempt us not to bear above our power!— filed under Trials
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand, Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd: And he that stands upon a slippery place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.— filed under Vows
The grappling vigour, and rough frown of war.— filed under War
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty, Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: Now powers from home, and discontents at home, Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits (As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast) The imminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this tempest.— filed under War
God forgive the sins of all those souls, That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,— filed under War
Your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, Like Amazons, come tripping after drums; Their thimbles into armed guantlets change, Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts— filed under War
The gallant monarch is in arms; And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.— filed under War
Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will; A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will.— filed under Will