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Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
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
Look
Breast
Looks
Finger
Even
Ring
Heart
Breasts
Rings
Fingers
Wear
Poor
Thine
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven keep me in temper I would not be mad!
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Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.
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I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.
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... And death unloads thee.
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What is aught but as 'tis valued?
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He says, he loves my daughter I think so too for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand and read, As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, Who loves another best.
William Shakespeare
Dirty days hath September April June and November From January up to May The rain it raineth every day All the rest have thirty-one Without a blessed gleam of sun And if any of them had two-and-thirty They'd be just as wet and twice as dirty. April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
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It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you will desire and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
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Who can be patient in extremes?
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There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
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With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.
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Oppose not rage while rage is in its force, but give it way a while and let it waste.
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These earthly godfathers of Heaven's lights, that give a name to every fixed star, have no more profit of their shining nights than those that walk and know not what they are.
William Shakespeare
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
William Shakespeare
While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.
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Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.
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Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article. --Othello, Act III, Scene iii
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Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
William Shakespeare