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The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
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
Fools
Memorable
Pity
Fool
Wise
Foolishly
Speak
Touchstones
May
Wisely
Men
April
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony.
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To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans coy looks, with heart-sore sighs one fading moment's mirth
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I have nothing Of woman in me now from head to foot I am marble-constant.
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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall with our English dead.
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Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands, But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
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Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe. There's nothing situate under heaven's eye But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky.
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If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue!
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Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away
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Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?
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For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
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Two women placed together makes cold weather.
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There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond And do a willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity profound conceit As who should say, I am sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
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How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
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Romeo: Courage, man the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
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It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
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When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies.
William Shakespeare
Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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Even as one heat another heat expels, or as one nail by strength drives out another, so the remembrance of my former love is by a newer object quite forgotten.
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An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
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Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
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