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Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?
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
Well
Bodies
Heart
Parts
Hearts
Agree
Weak
Taming
Conditions
Smooth
Body
External
Wells
Soft
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canter dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
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And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night.
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Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
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Know my name is lost, By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.
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What is the city but the people?
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
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As good luck would have it.
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I understand a fury in your words But not your words.
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When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence so sweet is zealous contemplation.
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I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking so full of valor that they smote the air, for breathing in their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their feet.
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When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
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I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!
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Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, but presently prevent the ways to wail.
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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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I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
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Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. A man I am, crossed with adversity My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have.
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In nature's infinite book of secrecy A little I can read.
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This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.
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O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.
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