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Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
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
Leave
Graces
Grace
Copy
Alive
Copies
Night
Cruel
World
Grave
Lady
Graves
Lead
More quotes by William Shakespeare
There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
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You must not think That we are made of stuff so fat and dull That we can let our beard be shook with danger And think it pastime.
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Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come make her laugh at that.
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Nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will.
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And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags.
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Ah me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is!
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Art made tongue-tied by authority.
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Great floods have flown From simple sources.
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We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
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I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope.
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For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.
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I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.
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Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables.
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Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
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The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
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There is flattery in friendship.
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The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately long love doth so Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!
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