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Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Death
Full
Shadow
Hiking
Catharsis
Nothing
Heard
Walking
Tale
Sonnet
Play
Hours
Journey
Pace
Nihilism
Life
Poor
Tomorrow
Wander
Sauntering
Upon
Walks
Theme
Trekking
Frets
Sound
Player
Idiot
Strolling
Strutting
Success
Told
Tales
Creeps
Signifying
Inspirational
Stage
Hour
Fury
Fretting
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
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Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
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I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.
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I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
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When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.
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A sympathy in choice.
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Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come
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In time we hate that which we often fear.
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Time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will.
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For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
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Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? Malvolio: Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. Feste: But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in you wits than a fool.
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Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety.
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You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.
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Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny. It hath been Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings.
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I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.
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Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies Now thrive the armorers, and honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
William Shakespeare
There's beggary in love that can be reckoned
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O the world is but a word were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
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A thousand kisses buys my heart from me And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
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There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.
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