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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
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
Poet
Imagination
Theseus
Midsummer
Compact
Lunatic
Lover
Lovers
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away
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We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
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And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
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It is great sin to swear unto a sin, But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
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The instances that second marriage move Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
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The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.
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Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
William Shakespeare
This is a gift that I have, simple, simple a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.
William Shakespeare
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare
A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
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'By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible true, that thou art beauteous truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal.
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What is more miserable than discontent?
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I...Kisss the tender inward of thy hand.
William Shakespeare
As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.
William Shakespeare
Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
William Shakespeare
My love is as a fever, longing still.
William Shakespeare
Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.
William Shakespeare
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.
William Shakespeare
This we prescribe, though no physician Deep malice makes too deep incision Forget, forgive conclude and be agreed Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
William Shakespeare
