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O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven
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
Thou
Angel
Head
Heaven
Winged
Speak
Messenger
Night
Messengers
Art
Bright
Glorious
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Myself will straight aboard, and to the state This heavy act with heavy heart relate.
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Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.
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My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!
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To be, or not to be, that is the question.
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Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand.
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Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
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She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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The will is deaf and hears no heedful friends.
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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
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I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
William Shakespeare
If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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Now the time is come, That France must veil her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England's lap.
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A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.
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O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.
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GLOUCESTER: I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night: I thank my God for my humility.
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When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.
William Shakespeare
Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
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Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.
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There was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently
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