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Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*
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
Thou
Lear
Letters
Insults
Wall
Tread
Leave
Villain
Lord
Letter
Give
Unnecessary
Shakespearean
Giving
Cheer
Mortar
Insult
Jake
More quotes by William Shakespeare
...lest too light winning make the prize light.
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Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.
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Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.
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Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
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Things may serve long, but not serve ever.
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That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. (Enobarbus)
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As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
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Too much to know is to know nought but fame And every godfather can give a name.
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Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
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Of all the fair resort of gentlemen That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
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But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them. Viola: Thy reason, man? Feste: Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.
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We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
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If by chance I talk a little wild, forgive me I had it from my father.
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Ay, but to die and go we know not where To lie in cold obstrution and to rot This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.
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The painful warrior famous for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil'd, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd
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But men are men the best sometimes forget.
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O, beware, my lord, of jealousy It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
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What, gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do it cannot speak, For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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My soul is in the sky.
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I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.
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