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When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
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
Spy
Sorrows
Sympathy
Sadness
Battalions
Sorrow
Polonius
Single
Ophelia
Come
Horatio
Spies
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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A wicked conscience mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.
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I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
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If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark
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He hath eaten me out of house and home.
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Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.
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Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come
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Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.
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QUINCE Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman I have a beard coming.
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Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.
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I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.
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Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.
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But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.
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Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen can passage find That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
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Love is a wonderful, terrible thing
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Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
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