William Shakespeare Quotes to Learn
Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Sonnet 23
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
Sonnet 30
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Sonnet 60
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Sonnet 65
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Sonnet 116
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Sonnet 23
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
Sonnet 30
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Sonnet 60
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Sonnet 65
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Sonnet 116
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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