Shakespearean Quotes

“The game is afoot.”
― Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Adventure of the Abbey Grange - a Sherlock Holmes Short Story

“And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them?”
― Mervyn Peake, Titus Groan

“Like a snake sheds its skin, we are capable of getting rid of assembled habits, creating space to call matters into question. Instead of the Shakespearian " To be or not to be " we could favor " to become or not to become". By "becoming", we challenge the range of possibilities in our life and go beyond the merely "being". We can retreat, then, from the imprisonment of a deadly routine, acquire an identity and develop our personality. ( "Man without Qualities" )”
― Erik Pevernagie

“What, you egg? / [He stabs him.]”
― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

“It's Shakespearean, Bill; lots of the important stuff in Shakespeare happens offstage - you just hear about it.”
― John Irving, In One Person

“Death is not the only possible outcome.”
― Amy Hennig

“In Greek tragedy, 'Destiny is Character' that means destiny drives or guides the hero. In Shakespearean tragedy, 'Character is Destiny' that means the hero creates his own destiny! But, real life is a mixture of both!”
― Md. Ziaul Haque

“The lady bears a crust of rage as the ground bears hardened frost in the morning. Some days, 't melts with warm persuasion, but on others, 't lingers, and all is hollow ere its cold fury.”
― Stewart Stafford

“All, right then." Henry raised his hand like a sorcerer. "Oh, Ling Chan, Madame Curie of the dream world," he intoned dramatically, barely keeping a straight face. "Sleep hath released thee! Now is the time thou must waketh!"
Ling rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot.”
― Libba Bray, Lair of Dreams

“An ancient gate, sealed by the powers of Light and Darkness, barred the way to the Pillars beyond. To depart this place and continue my journey, I would have to find the means to open it.”
― Amy Hennig

“The Seer's Map by Stewart Stafford

Howling dog, thou cursèd hound,
Plaguest thy master with baleful sound,
The cur's yelps taint the air around;
A dirge for all that hear thy wound.

The rooftop magpie foretells:
Herald of guests to visit soon,
A noisy speech announceth,
Companions of the afternoon.

Lucky horseshoe and iron key,
Bringeth good fortune to the finder,
But spilling salt provokes fate,
And draws the evil eye's reminder.

A shoe upon the table laid,
Tempts the dead to live anon,
For this ungracious gesture waketh,
Flesh and blood from skeleton.

Who crosses the path of hare or priest,
A perilous milestone on thy road,
Their very presence signifies
That gathering trouble doth forebode.

A toad on thy merry travels,
Brings sweet smiles and kindest charms,
Keep one about thy person warm,
To shelter safe from danger's harms.

Red sky at night delights the eye,
Of shepherd that beholds thy light,
Thy colour doth betoken dawn
Of weather fair and clear and bright.

Red sky at morn troubles the heart,
Of shepherd that surveys thy shade,
Thy hue doth presage day
Of stormy blast and tempest made.

December's thunder balm,
Speaks of harvest's tranquil mind,
January's thunder, fierce!
Warns of war and gales unkind.

An itchy palm hints at gold
To come into thy hand ere long,
But if thou scratch it, thou dost lose
The fair wind that blows so strong.

A Sunday Christmas forewarns:
Three signs of what the year shall hold;
A winter mild, a Lenten wind,
And summer dry, to then unfold.

Good luck charm on New Year's Day
Maketh fortune bloom all year,
But to lose it or give it away,
Thou dost invite ill-omened fear.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Kenna gave herself to Alexander to do as he wished, welcoming it, aching for it. She had no control. She wanted none. She was his.”
― May McGoldrick, Much Ado About Highlanders

“Shakespearean tragedies do not deal chiefly with the working-class people and focus mostly on the fall of the kings, princes, generals etc. because a beggar has nothing to lose but if a king loses everything suddenly and gets poor, then the readers or audience become so sad and feel like crying in the end!”
― Md. Ziaul Haque

“গ্রিক ট্র্যাজেডিতে 'Destiny is Character' মানে ভাগ্য নায়ককে চালিত বা নির্দেশিত করে। শেইকস্পিয়ারিয় ট্র্যাজেডিতে 'Character is Destiny' মানে নায়ক নিজেই নিজের ভাগ্যকে সৃষ্টি করে। কিন্তু বাস্তব ��ীবন এ দুটোরই সংমিশ্রণ!”
― Md. Ziaul Haque

“If 't be true thou dost love me, then bare thy breast and runneth upon this bodkin. Nay, I do not require thy life or lethal proof that Narcissus festered in isolation. Man is a blotted parchment of sins and reminiscence his Purgatory.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Shakespeare's strengths and there are many include his unique ability to vastly improve pre-existing plots and turn them profoundly dark and tragic or lightly comedic and romantic at will. There is also The Bard's lyrical, complex dialogue encoded with hidden meaning that works both in context and out, his towering, unforgettable characterisations, and the variety and depth of his female characters.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Ladybird Heart by Stewart Stafford

O darling o' my heart,
If 'tis true that is what thou art,
Then recognise and see me.

Didst I not win thy heart so bold,
And giveth thee rings of gold?
Anon, honour our precious union.

But to interfering teams,
Thy loyalty now it seems,
Thee grants these canker blossoms o'er me.

Recall how they hath tried,
To jilt me from mine own bride,
And keepest thou lonesome and melancholy.

So, returneth, my dove,
To this, thy bed of love,
And sleep soundly beneath thy lovebird's wing.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“An Eleventh Pretender by Stewart Stafford

Pardon me, thou art king
Of paling November’s hedgerow,
Demanding fealty from December,
That crowns the year, and justly so.

I hear thy shrill trumpets blow,
They shake my windows so.
None shun the stepping stone.
To Christmas feasting’s glow.

Thou host saints and souls indeed,
Commemorate foiled plots.
Martinmas turns harvest to winter,
And mirth at Guildhall spots.

Thou art an impostor yet
in the Western world, or here.
Blow hence, ninth month of Rome,
Paucity’s envy of double-digit's year.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“To crudely paraphrase a far more elegant apology than ours: Piece out our imperfections with your mind; think - when we speak of whale-boats, whales and oceans, that you see them - for 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our stage; jumping o'er time; turning the accomplishments of many years into an hour-glass...”
― Orson Welles, Moby Dick - Rehearsed

“Death's Embrace - A Soliloquy by Stewart Stafford

In sincere tongue, declare with heart:
Art thou but a mimic, shadow of the art,
Or standest thou bold, architect of the new,
Crafting the morrow in thy vision true?

Unburden me from this oppressive weight,
I cannot bear this overwhelming force.
Despair hath found its pinnacle in me,
And I must peer into realms unknown,
If cherished sight fails me at mine end,
I shall renounce all chimeras of the light.

But fall not tamely from Life’s precipice,
Death presses hard on thy frail fingers,
Hold on, cry, resist thy certain ruin!
Trouble's court, may yet bestow thee favour.
Dreams are but fancies giv’n swift wings,
That soar beyond the bounds of reason;
In minds that dare to fly unshackled,
The dreamer becometh the vision.

Love is both a journey and destination:
Long and painful upon the path,
Unsought, yet blissful when it is found.
From dust conjur’d — to stars, we’re turned.
Beware the self-righteous man,
Whose pride does unseat the very world
Before he sees his error.

Piteous wounds of thine own hand,
'Tis easy to judge from afar
Without walking with aching bones.
If there be cause that yet remaineth here,
It showeth their harshness and injustice
To themselves and their loving others.
Mourn their release with mercy and thanks
Transient whispers guide along chance’s way.

Weep not for those who have found Death’s embrace,
They lament for us who tarry on old shores.
Death but ushers a veiled dawn, not life's twilight,
A metamorphosis of guise, not of the spirit's light.
Though we must part for now, we shall be one again.
For love’s wrought by flesh, yet holds not its chain.

Time-worn age stoops; penitents depart.
Pawned as one in vigilant trance
But what a folly 'tis to mark the signs of our undoing;
Memory's comet trails bequeathed to loved ones left,
Contagion's rehearsal on the ephemeral stage.
With luck, a stand-in may go on in thy stead.
Ere thy final bow becomes unavoidable.

With tyrant Death prowling public ways,
I turn from mankind hence to seek delight.
A chamber ceiling seen upon morn's wake,
I say: “The sun does rise? Let's haste away!”
Upon waking, a stone tomb's ashen lid,
I would perchance say: “Alas!..mine eyes do grow heavy.”

A life well-liv’d is not weigh’d by earthly goods
Or the number of mourners at the grave.
Numerous, deep laugh lines tell the tale,
On the face of the person lying still in the crypt,
Reveals threescore years and twelve’s true worth.
Death is not the villain of the piece;
It is the next phase of life, in strange attire.
I accept my fate with grace and courage.
For I have liv’d and lov’d and dream’d enough.

© Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“A Mind's Minotaur - A Soliloquy by Stewart Stafford

In a labyrinth’s mental corridors, prisoner of consciousness,
Fleeing a Minotaur I fear is me.
Achilles' heel, masked by strength hath shown,
An arrow cometh from Time's swift flight,
For those with bountiful time enow,
Find themselves slain in a heroic light.
When thou dost gaze upon the world below,
And scorn its depths, thou canst not comprehend
The truths that pool o'er its shadow, glow.
No tears stain that meadow of solace,
A phantom limb, tickling in memory's store,
Galley slaves in hurricane's heart so lashed.
Transient madness and renown, conjoin on pomp’s bridge,
Champions of the joust wave paramour's kerchief,
Revered statues limp from a pedestal's ridge.
The signs of pride and brittle ardour,
The hubristic bite of isolation's cur.
The death warrant quill must ne'er be stilled,
For authority doth stifle beauty's song,
Staged chaos through the written word is willed.
Phantasy's balm to verity's scourging,
A cleansing soak of battle-scarred minds,
And in the dark, imagination reigns.
He who hath fear of the dark hath vision keen,
Whilst those who see but naught are dull and plain.
Thus, let us not be swayed by others' lore,
But splay in error, heal to prosper once more.
Idolatrous moth to lechery's candlelight,
In lover's tongues, passion's seared delight.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“A Martian Midsummer Night's Dream by Stewart Stafford

On Mars's pristine ruddy hue, we tread,
Above, stars as adamantine algae spread.
Phobos and Deimos, twin moons fair,
Primeval river beds form a spidery lair.
Dust storms tower above dried-up seas,
A vast red alien desert, shorn of trees.

Oberon and Titania's gamesmanship spite,
Quarrel deep in the Martian summer night.
Puckish antics stir starry lovers' hearts true,
As spells and dreams on tangled paths pursue.

On Olympus Mons, Vulcan gods watch and scheme,
Echoes of old wars fuelling plans extreme;
A Wellsian tome of the tripod Martian foe,
Of invasive seeds, spread to Earth to sow.

In Valles Marineris, where canyons stretch away,
Dead of night gives birth to coppery day.
A frontier vision, both opaque and diamond clear,
Magical flights of fancy on an untamed sphere.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford