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O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!
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
Thief
Thieves
Love
Juggler
Canker
Jugglers
Blossom
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
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Do not give dalliance too much rein the strongest oaths are straw to the fire in the blood.
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Love is too young to know what conscience is.
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His worst fault is, he's given to prayer he is something peevish that way.
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Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means!
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There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
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Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.
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Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.
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I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
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Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring?
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Well, God's above all and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.
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O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .
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He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
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Tis not the many oaths that make the truth But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.
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Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
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Be checked for silence, But never taxed for speech.
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Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
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I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.
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My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, and till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, for then she never looks upon her lure.
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Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights Four nights will quickly dream away the time And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.
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