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Thou know'st 'tis common all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.
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
Dies
Common
Lives
Death
Nature
Passings
Must
Passing
Life
Thou
Eternity
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
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What are you doing sister? / Killing swine.
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But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.
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How now, wit! Whither wander you?
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Waste not thy time in windy argument but let the matter drop.
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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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Cursed be he that moves my bones.
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Lovers can do their amorous rites by their own beauties
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Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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What must be shall be.
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Love is blind, it stops lovers seeing the silly things they do.
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If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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in black ink my love may still shine bright.
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This we prescribe, though no physician Deep malice makes too deep incision Forget, forgive conclude and be agreed Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
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The worm is not to be trusted.
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Virtue and genuine graces in themselves speak what no words can utter.
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The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
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