Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

[sandyRoe]

What's your favourite line from the Bards works?

[Mosaic]

The devil damn thee black thou cream-faced loon

[sandyRoe]

Take it easy. Take it easy. It's only a question :-)

[jno]

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust

[Mosaic]

Lol Sandy
I shall be like the tailor, and scratch where it itches.

[woofgang]

Difficult. The one that leaps straight to mind though is "shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

[DaisyNonna]

That one!
Learned the sonnet off by heart when I was 13. Never wavered!

[joggerjayne]

But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
And we'll not fail.

[maggiebee]

Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.

[maggiebee]

Sorry folks, misread the question.

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps

[sunny-dave]

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.



We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

[gness]

And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon.

[DTCwordfan]

"The flighty purpose never is o'ertook
Unless the deed go with it: from this moment
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand."

Macbeth Act 4.

[woofgang]

That summers day one is so cheeky. It's starts off flattering the woman and ends by boasting about how long his poetry will last.

[ladybirder]

Thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
that then I scorn to change my state with kings.

[sandyRoe]

He had a way with words and no mistake.

[Canary42]

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ----

[Tilly2]

When, in the session of sweet silent thoughts, I summon up remembrance of things past.

Love the assonance.

[emmie]

From the Tempest,
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

[emmie]

sorry more than one line, but it bears reading time and again.


WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

[nungate]

Sonnet 18 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day......... I love that one and of course sonnet 116,
The Seven Ages of Man from As you like it, Henry V, Pericles, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Julius Caesar and A Midsummer's Night Dream it's hard to select just one but the above are my favourites