Quote

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

William Shakespeare

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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Purpose
Producing
Cheek
Evil
Hath
Wickedness
Soul
Apples
Smiling
Heart
Scripture
Rotten
Goodly
Like
Witness
Cheeks
Cite
Devil
Falsehood
Citing
Outside
Villain
Merchants
Holy
Apple
Venice

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Bow, stubborn knees, and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. All many be well.
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O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
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Cease to lament for that thou canst not help and study help for that which thou lamentest.
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Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
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Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.
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Shall we upon the footing of our land Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, Insinuation, parley, and base truce, To arms invasive?
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
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They say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
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Every fair from fair sometime declines
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Like one who draws the model of a house beyond his power to build it who, half through, gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost a naked subject to the weeping clouds.
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Muster your wits stand in your own defence.
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Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.
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Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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What light through yonder window breaks?
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There's an old saying that applies to me: you can't lose a game if you don't play the game. (Act 1, scene 4)
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Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
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Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee.
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