Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.
If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
Now I will believe that there are unicorns.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
A very ancient and fish-like smell.
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.
I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.
Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.
No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong, bell.
All's well that ends well.
He that dies pays all debts.
Full fathom five thy father lies
As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
All is well that ends well
And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends