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If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
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
Giving
Musical
Love
Food
Dies
Night
Sicken
Give
Unrequited
May
Excess
Music
Appetite
Play
Romance
More quotes by William Shakespeare
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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The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
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If I had my mouth, I would bite if I had my liberty, I would do my liking. In the meantime, let me be that I am, and seek not toalter me.
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A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
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For now they kill me with a living death.
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Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
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A young man married is a man that's marred.
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Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor.
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Thou art a Castilian King urinal!
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All's well if all ends well.
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Security is the chief enemy of mortals.
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I'll have no husband, if you be not he.
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The will is deaf and hears no heedful friends.
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Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, but graciously to know I am no better.
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Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
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I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.
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You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!
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No, no 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue nor sufficiency To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
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Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.
William Shakespeare
