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How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony
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
Sleep
Touches
Upon
Stillness
Sound
Bank
Night
Soft
Orbs
Become
Sounds
Creep
Music
Harmony
Sleeps
Ears
Creeps
Sweet
Moonlight
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
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I always thought it was both impious and unnatural that such immanity and bloody strife should reign among professors of one faith.
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Nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal.
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We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
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A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's More pregnantly than words.
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As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, at turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to centre.
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In law, what plea so tainted and corrupts, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil.
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Ay me! sad hours seem long.
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Some glory in their birth , some in their skill , Some in their wealth , some in their bodies' force , Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill Some in their hawks and hounds , some in their horse And every humor hath his adjunct pleasure , Wherein it finds a joy above the rest .
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All the world's a stage, and all the men and women mearly players.
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A book? O, rare one, Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers.
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Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor
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Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.
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I'll read enough When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.
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Love denied blights the soul we owe to God.
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A cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in 't.
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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
William Shakespeare
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.
William Shakespeare
Every great drama has its foreshadow.
William Shakespeare
Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste.
William Shakespeare
