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Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well and yet words are not deeds.
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
Talking
Words
Wells
Well
Kind
Good
Deed
Deeds
More quotes by William Shakespeare
There is no creature loves me And if I die, no soul will pity me.
William Shakespeare
What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.
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O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
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Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit and for lovers, lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
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You are not wood, you are not stones, but men.
William Shakespeare
All is well ended, if the suit be won.
William Shakespeare
Our wills and fates do so contrary run.
William Shakespeare
How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
William Shakespeare
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!
William Shakespeare
Thou weedy elf-skinned canker-blossom!
William Shakespeare
Look, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east! Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops.
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The force of his own merit makes his way-a gift that heaven gives for him.
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But I am constant as the Northern Star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament.
William Shakespeare
Which can say more than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
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Make use of time, let not advantage slip Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time.
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Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
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At once, good night- Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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So quick bright things come to confusion.
William Shakespeare
I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both.
William Shakespeare
