Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! Serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?

— William Shakespeare

A light heart lives long.

— William Shakespeare

A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.

— William Shakespeare

All causes shall give way: I am in bloodshed’d in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.

— William Shakespeare

All dark and comfortless.

— William Shakespeare

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

— William Shakespeare

All's well that ends well.

— William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage.

— William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

— William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage And all the men and women merely players.

— William Shakespeare