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How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
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
Positive
Beam
Littles
Shines
Little
Deed
Good
Candle
Beams
World
Deeds
Donation
Shining
Merchants
Goodness
Naughty
Kindness
Throws
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Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
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They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.
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This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.
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Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?
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I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.
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Passion lends them power, time means to meet, tempering extremities with extremes sweet.
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Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden.
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[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
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love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit
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Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
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Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
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And to be merry best becomes you for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. BEATRICE No, sure, my lord, my mother cried but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
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Robust grass endures mighty winds loyal ministers emerge through ordeal.
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As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.
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A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us His dew falls everywhere.
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The cunning livery of hell.
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Words spoken can not be recalled so think twice before you speak.
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The head is not more native to the heart.
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Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low.
William Shakespeare