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The evil that men do lives after them the good is oft interred with their bones.
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
Ears
Wisdom
Evil
Interred
Lives
Plebeians
Good
Julius
Men
Countrymen
Life
Wickedness
Bones
More quotes by William Shakespeare
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
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We are such stuff that dreams are made of.
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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.
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A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't.
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These signs have marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men.
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More can I bear than you dare execute.
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Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
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What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god.
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Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty for in my youth I never did apply hot and rebellious liquors in my blood and did not, with unbashful forehead, woo the means of weakness and debility: therefore my age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
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Kindness nobler ever than revenge.
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No villainous bounty yet hath passed my heart Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
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Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand.
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Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires.
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The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
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Pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision.
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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
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Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.
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A very ancient and fish-like smell.
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O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.
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That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches one that would circumvent God, might it not?
William Shakespeare
