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Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
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
Love
Parting
Morrow
Till
Sorrow
Sweet
Shall
Goodnight
Night
Infatuation
Good
Juliet
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Better three hours too soon, than one hour to late.
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whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. i will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. thy lips are warm. yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. there rust and let me die.
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I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.
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No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.
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Love reasons without reason.
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Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning One pain is less'ned by another's anguish Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
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They that touch pitch will be defiled.
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Not stepping over the bounds of modesty.
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Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops. Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.
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Every why hath a wherefore.
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An overflow of good converts to bad.
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Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.
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I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
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Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.
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With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.
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O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
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A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
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A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.
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A glooming peace this morning with it brings The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
William Shakespeare