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Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better we shall be the more marketable.
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
Mouth
Mouths
Rosalind
News
Celia
Shall
Beau
Full
Marketable
Comes
Crammed
Young
Pigeons
Better
Feed
More quotes by William Shakespeare
A plague on both your houses.
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Men from children nothing differ.
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I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply to wive and thrive as best I may.
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Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavor of this present breath may buy That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.
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Hold, or cut bowstrings.
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It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
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I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.
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No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.
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I do begin to have bloody thoughts.
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If he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betrayed with trees And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils, and men with flatterers
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Prosperity's the very bond of love.
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What is thy sentence then but speechless death.
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Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom it fills one full of obstacles.
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There's beggary in love that can be reckoned
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name such tricks hath strong imagination.
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Words to deeds cold breath gives.
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Good old grandsire ... we shall be joyful of thy company.
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If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
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Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
William Shakespeare
