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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
Music
Harmony
Sleeps
Ears
Creeps
Sweet
Moonlight
Sleep
Touches
Upon
Stillness
Sound
Bank
Night
Soft
Orbs
Become
Sounds
Creep
More quotes by William Shakespeare
It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.
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The leopard does not change his spots.
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Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious thing we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave.
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So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
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Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
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Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
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I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven keep me in temper I would not be mad!
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Speak, what trade art thou? Why, sir, a carpenter. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What does thou with thy best apparel on?
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Never, never, never, never, never! Pray you, undo this button.
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There was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown!
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There is little choice in a barrel of rotten apples.
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Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.
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Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.
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All that glitters is not gold.
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As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
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Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
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Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affection, Figures pedantical--these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.
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Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.
William Shakespeare
