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O,speak to me no morethese words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!) — William Shakespeare hamlet
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
Ears
Saying
Daggers
Words
Hamlet
Speak
William
Way
Shakespeare
Like
Shut
Enter
Fancy
More quotes by William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage ... and you better have a zoning variance or it's coming down.
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And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once That makes ingrateful man!
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My heart is ever at your service.
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Love`s reason`s without reason
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Who is it that can tell me who I am?
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There is none of my uncle's marks upon you he taught me how to know a man in love in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
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So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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Let me have men about me that are fat... Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
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How low am I, thou painted maypole?
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Well, while I live I'll fear no other thing So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.
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Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
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Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.
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Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome therefore I will depart unkissed.
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Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight, Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
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What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
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Few things loves better Than to abhor himself.
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O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper, sprinkle cool patience.
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And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night.
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