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My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
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
Thought
Smothered
States
Shakes
Nothing
Uncertainty
Men
Murder
Function
Whose
Single
Surmise
State
Fantastical
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
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That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
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Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
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A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
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Do all men kill the things they do not love ............ The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest It blesseth him that gives and him that takes
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There's a time for all things.
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O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating.
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We were not born to sue, but to command.
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Benvolio- By my head, here come the Capulets. Mercutio- By my heel, I care not.
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Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
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They are hare-brain'd slaves.
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Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.
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Friendship's full of dregs.
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Rich honesty dwells like a miser, Sir, in a poor house as your pearl in your foul oyster.
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You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day.
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I would with such perfection govern, sir, T'excel the golden age.
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These earthly godfathers of Heaven's lights, that give a name to every fixed star, have no more profit of their shining nights than those that walk and know not what they are.
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Ingratitude is monstrous.
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I love him for his sake And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him That they take place when virtue's steely bones Looks bleak i' th' cold wind withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
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Experience teacheth us That resolution 's a sole help at need: And this, my lord, our honour teacheth us, That we be bold in every enterprise: Then since there is no way, but fight or die, Be resolute, my lord, for victory.
William Shakespeare
