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A ministering angel shall my sister be.
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
Angel
Shall
Ministering
Sisterhood
Sibling
Sister
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
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When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray!
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This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
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So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men.
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Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.
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Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.
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Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.
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As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
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This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh!
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He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
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So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.
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This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
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I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
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Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.
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Polonius: Do you know me, my lord? Hamlet: Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
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A book? O, rare one, Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers.
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Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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Or art thou but / A dagger of the mind, a false creation, / Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
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For who so firm that cannot be seduced?
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Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
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