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Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
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
Doubtful
Dwell
Destroy
Destruction
Joy
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Th abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.
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The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
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Too nice, and yet too true!
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No matter where of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth
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Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
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A fusty nut with no kernel.
William Shakespeare
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
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All surfeit is the father of much fast.
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Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.
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Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.
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Give me to drink mandragora.
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Modest wisdom plucks me from over-credulous haste.
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The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
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My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
William Shakespeare
Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that (by chance) I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.
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No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns.
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I speak of peace, while covert enmity under the smile of safety wounds the world
William Shakespeare
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked?
William Shakespeare
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed
William Shakespeare
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage.
William Shakespeare
