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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?
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
Merchants
Venice
Fancy
Head
Inspirational
Tell
Heart
Shylock
Bred
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Lawn as white as driven snow Cyprus black as e'er was crow Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
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The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
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Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
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Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me
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How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
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The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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No, Cassius for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.
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Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love. Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues. Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent for beauty is a witch Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
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Old Time the clock-setter.
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Lord Bacon told Sir Edward Coke when he was boasting, The less you speak of your greatness, the more shall I think of it.
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I can no longer live by thinking.
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I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.
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Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
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Mine honour is my life both grow in one Take honour from me, and my life is done.
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Sin will pluck on sin.
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That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches one that would circumvent God, might it not?
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Men from children nothing differ.
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No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
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Avaunt, you cullions!
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How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
William Shakespeare
