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Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
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
Stills
Still
Much
Love
Juliet
Wit
Grief
Shows
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.
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But I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly.
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I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
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Two women placed together makes cold weather.
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I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I'll weep.
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Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
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A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
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Tis not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but stomachs, and we all but food They eat us hungerly, and when they are full They belch us.
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Wish chastely, and love dearly.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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I say, without characters, fame lives long.
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O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
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The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
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No villainous bounty yet hath passed my heart Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
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If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion.
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Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
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He that dies pays all debts.
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Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
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Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. For whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.
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A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
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