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Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
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
Vision
Sleep
Dream
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Mend when thou canst be better at thy leisure.
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An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
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All is well ended, if the suit be won.
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There is nothing serious in Mortality
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
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For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.
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No sooner met but they looked no sooner looked but they loved no sooner loved but they sighed no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.
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As for my wife, I would you had her spirit in such another The third o' th' world is yours, which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
William Shakespeare
How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
William Shakespeare
Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
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Journeys end in lovers meeting.
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Suit the action to the word : the word to the action : with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature.
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There is nothing so confining as the prisons of our own perceptions.
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Truth will come to sight murder cannot be hid long.
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I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.
William Shakespeare
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
William Shakespeare
He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
William Shakespeare
How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
William Shakespeare
The chameleon Love can feed on the air
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