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She speaks poniards, and every word stabs.
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
Benedick
Speaks
Word
Speak
Every
Stabs
More quotes by William Shakespeare
If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud you again.
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A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger.
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How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
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For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
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Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
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Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.
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Is she not passing fair?
William Shakespeare
The thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility yet am I inland bred And know some nurture.
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Take pains. Be perfect.
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I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker much virtue in If.
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Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough.
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They do not love that do not show their love.
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The gloomy shade of death.
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Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?
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Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.
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A Loud Laugh Bespeaks a Vacant Mind!
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Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
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Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
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No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.
William Shakespeare
