Shakespeare Patience Quotes & Sayings

How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? — William Shakespeare

O gentle son, / Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper, sprinkle cool patience. — William Shakespeare

For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. — William Shakespeare

Maybe the play wasn't about miracles. No, maybe it was about the passage of time, and the need for patience, and the ability to forgive. Maybe Shakespeare was saying that even in a world where miracles can happen, there's still going to be pain, and loss, and regret. Because sometimes people die and you can't bring them back. That's what life is Joseph realized, miracles and sadness, side by side. — Brian Selznick

Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad. — William Shakespeare

Had it pleas'd heaven
To try me with affliction * * *
I should have found in some place of my soul
A drop of patience. — William Shakespeare

Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you?
Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. — William Shakespeare

Had it pleased heaven
To try me with affliction; had they rain'd
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head.
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips,
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes,
I should have found in some place of my soul
A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me
A fixed figure for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at!
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there,
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin,
Ay, there, look grim as hell! — William Shakespeare

Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. — William Shakespeare

God grant us patience! — William Shakespeare

The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temp'rance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them, but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting in many ways. — William Shakespeare

Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: — William Shakespeare

I doubt not then but innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush, and tyrannyTremble at patience. — William Shakespeare

A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience! — William Shakespeare

Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature
That you can let this go? Are you so gospelled,
To pray for this good man and for his issue,
Whose heavy hand hath bowed you to the grave,
And beggared yours for ever? — William Shakespeare

A very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience. — William Shakespeare

Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. — William Shakespeare

I do oppose
My patience to his fury, and am arm'd
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
The very tyranny and rage of his. — William Shakespeare

Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain ... — William Shakespeare

Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling
Extremity out of act. — William Shakespeare

That which in mean men we entitle patience
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. — William Shakespeare

What cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes — William Shakespeare

Patience perforce with willful choler meeting/Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting./I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall,/Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall. — William Shakespeare

You tread upon my patience: but be sure I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, And therefore lost that title of respect Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. — William Shakespeare

No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing. — William Shakespeare

I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine:
... for, brother, men
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air and agony with words.
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency
To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. — William Shakespeare

Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English. — William Shakespeare

Who can be patient in extremes? — William Shakespeare

Have patience, and endure — William Shakespeare

Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour-a great patience. — William Shakespeare

It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance — William Shakespeare

She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love. — William Shakespeare