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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
Love
Food
Dies
Night
Sicken
Give
Unrequited
May
Excess
Music
Appetite
Play
Romance
Giving
Musical
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I have been long a sleeper but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
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Ah me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is!
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The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.
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Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
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These violent delights have violent ends.
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When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.
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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
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What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
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What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
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Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny. It hath been Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings.
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A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Arrested by the holy close of lips, Strength'ned by the interchangement of your rings, And all the ceremony of this compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony.
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The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase Even as our days do grow!
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That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough no more: 'Tis not so sweet as it was before.
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Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think perchance they'll sell if not, The lustre of the better yet to show Shall show the better.
William Shakespeare
There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
William Shakespeare
Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.
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Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
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Fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.
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Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
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