All WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE Quotes about “Art”

“Presume not that I am the thing I was.”
“When I got enough confidence, the stage was gone. When I was sure of losing, I won. When I needed people the most, they left me. When I learnt to dry my tears, I found a shoulder to cry on. And when I mastered the art of hating, somebody started loving me.”
“Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.”
“Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
“The object of Art is to give life a shape.”
“Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?”
“Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime.”
“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .”
“What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*”
“Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.”
“Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.”
“The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.”
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father refuse thy name, thou art thyself thou not a montegue, what is montegue? tis nor hand nor foot nor any other part belonging to a man What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, So Romeo would were he not Romeo called retain such dear perfection to which he owes without that title, Romeo, Doth thy name! And for that name which is no part of thee, take all thyself.”
“There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.”
“If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.”
“Thou art all the comfort, The Gods will diet me with.”
“Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?”
“Thou art the Mars of malcontents.”
“Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.”
“Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing; To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.”
“For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.”
“O, Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.”
“Say, thou art mine; and ever, My love, as it begins, shall so persevere”

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