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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
States
Shakes
Nothing
Uncertainty
Men
Murder
Function
Whose
Single
Surmise
State
Fantastical
Thought
Smothered
More quotes by William Shakespeare
He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.
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He's a soldier and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.
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Love yourself and in that love not unconsidered leave your honor.
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Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.
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Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.
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Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
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I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.
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I prithee gentle friend, Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passions, sway In this uncivil and unjust extent Against thy peace.
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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My love is as a fever, longing still.
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
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Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.
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Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.
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How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
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I will go wash And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush or no.
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Where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt.
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Exit, pursued by a bear.
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Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment.
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Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
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