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For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
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
Kings
Upon
Death
Tell
Stories
Ground
Sake
More quotes by William Shakespeare
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
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The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
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England is safe, if true within itself.
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There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave.
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I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
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Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.
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Take her away for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.
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What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
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All that glisters is not gold Often have you heard that told.
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Assume a virtue if you have it not.
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How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
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So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.
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O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.
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Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
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Know more than other. Work more than other. Expect less than other
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow.
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O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .
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Profit is a blessing, if it's not stolen.
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