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Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
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
Little
Phrase
Rude
Phrases
Soft
Blessed
Speech
Peace
Littles
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For I am nothing if not critical.
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Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
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He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.
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Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
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There was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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And oftentimes excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, As patches set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
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Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.
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A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
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My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.
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More fools know Jack Fool than Jack Fool knows.
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O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
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He receives comfort like cold porridge.
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I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.
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There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
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Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run.
William Shakespeare