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Finish, good lady the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.
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
Done
Good
Finish
Lady
Bright
Dark
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls Conscience is but a work that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe: Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law!
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I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine.
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There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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Ay me! sad hours seem long.
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I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.
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The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
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If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.
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Speak, what trade art thou? Why, sir, a carpenter. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What does thou with thy best apparel on?
William Shakespeare
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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Be great in act, as you have been in thought.
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Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
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With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
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The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.
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Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.
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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.
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The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
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So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men.
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What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.
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I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
William Shakespeare