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What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
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
Feed
Lady
Dear
Meet
Food
Beatrice
Possible
Benedick
Dies
Disdain
Living
Hath
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Thus may poor fools Belive false teachers.
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Against ill chances men are ever merry, But heaviness foreruns the good event.
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Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
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Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
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To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
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Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
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Why should honor outlive honestly? Orthello
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Of all complexions the culled sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, Where several worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
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Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
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Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd but bred a dog.
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So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.
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Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon
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If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.
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He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.
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Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.
William Shakespeare
Extremity is the trier of spirits.
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The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar but not gone.
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