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Shakespeare Quotes from The Comedy of Errors
Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up; Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.— filed under Age
And these same crosses spoil me. J! grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last; And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand, Have written strange defeatures in my face.— filed under Age
I know a wench of excellent discourse, Pretty, and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle.— filed under Beauty
They say, this town is full of cozenage; As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, Soul-killing witches, that deform the body; Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, And many such like libertines of sin.— filed under Dissolving
They brought one Punch: a hungry lean-fac'd villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A thread-bare juggler, a fortune-teller; A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, A living dead man: this pernicious slave, Forsooth, took on him as a conjuror; And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me, Cried out, I was possess'd.— filed under Conjuror
Until his very downfall in the sea.— filed under Day
And thereof came it that the man was mad.— filed under Excitement
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.— filed under Fiattery
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy !— filed under Jealousy
Self-harming jealousy.— filed under Jealousy
The venom clamours of a jealous woman Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.— filed under Jealousy
That very oft, When I am dull with care and melancholy, Lightens my humour with his merry jests.— filed under Jest
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, Ill-faced, worse-bodied, shapeless every where; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind,— filed under Jewel
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.— filed under Insolence
Unquiet meals make ill digestions.— filed under Meals
When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport, But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams.— filed under Opinion
I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have served him from the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for my service, but blows; when I am cold, he heats me with beating: when I am warm, he cools me with beating; I am awak'd with it, when I sleep; rais'd with it, when I sit; driven out of doors with it, when I go from home; welcomed home with it, when I return: nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar her brat; and, I think, when he hath lam'd me, 1 shall beg with it from door to door.— filed under Oppression
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she pause; They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burthen'd with like weight of pain, As much, or more, we should ourselves complain.— filed under Patience
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, But moody and dull melancholy. (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,) And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop T Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life? In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest To be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast. C. E.v.— filed under Recreation
One doth not know, How much an ill word may empoison liking. M.A. iii. 1 I see, the jewel, best enamelled, Will lose his beauty: and though gold 'bides still, That others touch, yet often touching will Wear gold: and no man, that hath a name, But falsehood and corruption doth it shame,— filed under Slander
He will steal, Sir, an egg out of a cloiste.. What simple thief brags of his own attaint?— filed under Thief, Thievery
Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's worth he's worth to season.— filed under Time
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, Of mouthed graves will give thee memory, Thou by thy dial's shady stealth maiest know, Time's thievish progress to eternity. Poems Not know my voice! O, time's extremity! Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue. In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up; Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.— filed under Time
Oh, grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last, And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face.— filed under Time
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator. My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.— filed under Tongue
He that commends me to mine own content, Commends me to the thing I cannot get I to the world am like a drop of water, That in the ocean seeks another drop; Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.— filed under Wanderer