Quote

I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

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
Love
Extreme
Extremes
Hot
Rage
Bounds
Quench
Seek
Qualify
Fire
Lest
Reason
Burn

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Graze on my lips and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.
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Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.
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Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain--so worse can come to fight And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
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He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
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Pray, do not mock me. I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
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Love sees with the heart and not with mind.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately long love doth so Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
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My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.
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Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.
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Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound.
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For she had eyes and chose me.
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To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand therefore, if tou art mov'd, thou runst away. (To be angry is to move, to be brave is to stand still. Therefore, if you're angry, you'll run away.)
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Opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects.
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