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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
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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
Months
Agreed
Though
Malice
Forget
Physicians
Makes
Month
Forgive
Prescribe
Forgiving
Bleed
Doctors
Conclude
Deep
Physician
More quotes by William Shakespeare
That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away.
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The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.
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He took the bride about the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack that at the parting all the church did echo.
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Where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt.
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Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
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The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.
William Shakespeare
We must follow, not force Providence.
William Shakespeare
The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
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My love admits no qualifying dross
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The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars.
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They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together.
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The course of true love never did run smooth.
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Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
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I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
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Time and the hour run through the roughest day.
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For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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Great griefs medicine the less.
William Shakespeare
What our contempts do often hurl from us, We wish it ours again.
William Shakespeare
When rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will
William Shakespeare
