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As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
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
Love
Honour
Name
Names
Fear
Death
More quotes by William Shakespeare
My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind So flew'd, so sanded their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.
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See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
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Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish her election, Sh'ath sealed thee for herself.
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Who alone suffers suffers most i' th' mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
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Ingratitude is monstrous and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a monster of the multitude of which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.
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Every great drama has its foreshadow.
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Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
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I am not in the roll of common men.
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For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.
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Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
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No, by my soul, I never in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
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Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.
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I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.
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A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
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Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.
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Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh And sees fast-by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
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Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.
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She is your treasure, she must have a husband I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day, And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.
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Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
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If she be not honest, chaste, and true, there's no man happy.
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