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So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.
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
Laugh
Cordelia
Laughing
Gilded
Tell
Butterflies
Live
Butterfly
Tales
Pray
Sing
Praying
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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If your mind dislike anything obey it
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Such thanks as fits a king's remembrance.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain--so worse can come to fight And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
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I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad and to travel for it too!
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He that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends.
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Ay me! sad hours seem long.
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Like the lily That once was mistress of the field and flourished, I'll hang my head and perish.
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Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service
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I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
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O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.
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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
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Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
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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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I myself am best When least in company.
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If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.
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There's villainous news abroad.
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Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
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[Marriage is] a world-without-end bargain.
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That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away.
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