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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
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
Stones
Worse
Things
Sassy
Senseless
Blocks
Insult
Block
More quotes by William Shakespeare
She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
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Experience is by industry achieved, And perfected by the swift course of time.
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Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough.
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Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
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The love of heaven makes one heavenly.
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Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.
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Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
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I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.
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I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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We have seen better days.
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Glory is like a circle in the water
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O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven
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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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Poise the cause in justice's equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
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More matter with less art.
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A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Arrested by the holy close of lips, Strength'ned by the interchangement of your rings, And all the ceremony of this compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony.
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If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
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Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear and from the tents The armorers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.
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Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
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