Famous Love Quotes - Our inspirational quotes

Therefore they thought it good for hear a play And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a. A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.

So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied.

It must be so, for miracles are ceased And therefore we must needs admit the means How things are perfected.

Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch! I am descended of a gentler blood. Thou art no father nor friend of mine.

Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue But moody and dull melancholy, Kinsman to a grim and comfortless despair, And at her heels a huge infectious troop Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?

Meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuffed, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

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

Such a house broke? So noble a master fall'n; all gone, and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm And go along with him?

Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?

I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell And gave him what becomed love I might, Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.

Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.-- This grave shall have a living monument. An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; Till then in patience our proceeding be.

That it should come to this, But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two, So excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth, Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on, and yet within a month-- Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman-- A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father's body Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she-- O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forced Those waters from me which I would have stopped; But I had not so much of man in me, And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.