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From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world.
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
Right
Eye
Derive
World
Show
Nourishment
Art
Contain
Shows
Arts
Stills
Doctrine
Women
Fire
Promethean
Still
Books
Nourish
Book
Eyes
Sparkle
More quotes by William Shakespeare
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
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for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
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So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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Enough no more Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
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And makes me poor indeed.
William Shakespeare
The present eye praises the present object.
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Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
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See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he feared is chanced.
William Shakespeare
The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.
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Good luck lies in odd numbers.
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There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.
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This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.
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O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school And though she be but little, she is fierce.
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My love admits no qualifying dross
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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We must be gentle now we are gentlemen.
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When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.
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What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*
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Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
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I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much How to forget that learning but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service.
William Shakespeare