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And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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
Unaccustomed
Cheerful
Lifts
Ground
Thoughts
Spirit
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For now they kill me with a living death.
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I see a man's life is a tedious one.
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What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect that private men enjoy! And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
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I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
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You are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger as the flint bears fire Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spank, And straight is cold again.
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And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.
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Examine well your blood.
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Put money in thy purse.
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I have shot mine arrow o'er the house And hurt my brother.
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Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.
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Love hath made thee a tame snake
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Some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time.
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The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.
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Thoughts are but dreams till their effects are tried.
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See the minutes, how they run, How many make the hour full complete How many hours bring about the day How many days will finish up the year How many years a mortal man may live.
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Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.
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I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
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For youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds Importing health and graveness.
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Tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons.
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Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.
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