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But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.
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
Mine
Travels
Objects
Wraps
Often
Melancholy
Many
Contemplation
Humorous
Rumination
Sadness
Sundry
Indeed
Extracted
Mines
Compounded
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I am not in the roll of common men.
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Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.
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True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
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Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood.
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Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
William Shakespeare
All things that are, are with more spirit chased than enjoyed.
William Shakespeare
I go, I go, look how I go, swifter than an arrow from a bow
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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
William Shakespeare
And send him many years of sunshine days!
William Shakespeare
Be great in act, as you have been in thought.
William Shakespeare
Time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arm outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer.
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What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.
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The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
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He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.
William Shakespeare
Whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
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Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
William Shakespeare
The wheel is come full circle.
William Shakespeare
I'll forbear And am fallen out with my more headier will To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.
William Shakespeare
Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
William Shakespeare
