William Shakespeare Son Quotations

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.

I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

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

Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather have eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.

Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table.

Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.

To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.

I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.

Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.

Good wombs have borne bad sons." -- (Miranda, I:2)

in that small [time] most greatly lived this star of England: Fortune made his sword, By which the world's best garden he achiev'd And left it to his son imperial lord. Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King of France and England did this King succeed; Whose state so many of had the managing, That they lost France and made his England bleed.

The one I love is the son of the one I hate! -Juliet p. 75

O war! thou son of Hell!

Tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons.

Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand And send it to the King: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, And that shall be the ransom for their fault.

Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.

A man cannot make him laugh; but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine.... If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York.