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Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
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
Sword
Mines
Mine
Open
World
Windsor
Oyster
Oysters
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
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We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
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Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book, To seek the light of truth, which truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.
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Use every man according to his desert and who should 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honor and dignity, the less they deserve ... the more merit in your bounty.
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Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
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God send everyone their heart's desire!
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Love denied blights the soul we owe to God.
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Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all.
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There's nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
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For now they kill me with a living death.
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If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
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Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.
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Love yourself and in that love not unconsidered leave your honor.
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Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.
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Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.
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This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh!
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My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life both grow in one Take honor from me, and my life is done.
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Many a true word hath been spoken in jest.
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us.
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Few love to hear the sins they love to act.
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