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His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.
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
Jest
Oath
Weep
Shallow
Wit
Thousands
Laugh
Laughing
Savour
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
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I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.
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But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.
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Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate
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Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her!
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The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
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Modest wisdom plucks me from over-credulous haste.
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Past all shame, so past all truth.
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
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When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony.
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Romeo: Courage, man the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
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Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.
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In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
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The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
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In struggling with misfortunes lies the true proof of virtue.
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O the world is but a word were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
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What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
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If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
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Anger's my meat. I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.
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A maiden hath no tongue--but thought.
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