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Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? BEATRICE Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. BENEDICK O, stay but till then! BEATRICE 'Then' is spoken fare you well now... (Much Ado About Nothing)
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
Stay
Wouldst
Called
Fare
Wells
Depart
Come
Spoken
Well
Till
Nothing
Thou
Much
Thee
Beatrice
Sweet
Benedick
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
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Say as you think and speak it from your souls.
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Honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
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Rest you fair, good signior Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
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If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied.
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Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
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One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.
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The past is prologue.
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Grace and remembrance be to you both.
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Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.
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A thousand kisses buys my heart from me And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
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And in the morn and liquid dew of youth, Contagious blastments are are most imminent.
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I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing.
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I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
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Gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom.
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The heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
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Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.
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O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
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I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster
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