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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
Become
Sounds
Creep
Music
Harmony
Sleeps
Ears
Creeps
Sweet
Moonlight
Sleep
Touches
Upon
Stillness
Sound
Bank
Night
Soft
Orbs
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Waste not thy time in windy argument but let the matter drop.
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It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
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Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
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One sin, I know, another doth provoke. Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke.
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They say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
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Under loves heavy burden do I sink. --Romeo
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Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?
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I am ill at these numbers.
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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
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I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
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The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.
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And mind, with my heart in't and now farewell Till half an hour hence.
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What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
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There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.
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Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, any by my friends I am abused so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.
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If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.
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And oftentimes excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, As patches set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
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Crowns have their compass-length of days their date- Triumphs their tomb-felicity, her fate- Of nought but earth can earth make us partaker, But knowledge makes a king most like his Maker.
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Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
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As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
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