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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
Much
Love
Juliet
Wit
Grief
Shows
Stills
Still
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
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Drink down all unkindness.
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For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
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I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil that's in me should set hell on fire.
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For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.
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Thy food is such As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.
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The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, Advantaging their loan with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness.
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I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
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The rain, it raineth every day.
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'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.
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A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?
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Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
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And send him many years of sunshine days!
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Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
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O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
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I almost die for food, and let me have it!
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Why what a fool was I to this drunken monster for a God. - Caliban
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Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
William Shakespeare
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety.
William Shakespeare
