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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
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
Green
Pluck
Blood
Seas
Hand
Wash
Rather
Red
Making
Guilt
Multitudinous
Hands
Sea
Neptune
Play
Clean
Hyperbole
Great
Ocean
Constancy
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.
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The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause.
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He that is thy friend indeed, he will help you in your need.
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It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
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In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
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I do beseech you- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess , that your wisdom yet From one that so imperfectly conjects Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance.
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Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!
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Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.
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And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
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Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
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Men's evil manners live in brass their virtues we write in water.
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Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning One pain is less'ned by another's anguish Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
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Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute 'shall'?
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The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.
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Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath.
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Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
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Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not, I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips: We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns.
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What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.
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