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Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
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
Soul
Sing
Writing
Dead
Willow
Even
Call
Cabin
Make
Within
Cabins
Love
Upon
Gate
Write
Loyal
House
Gates
Night
Loud
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.
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The time of universal peace is near. Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nooked world Shall bear the olive freely.
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I dare do all that may become a man Who dares do more, is none
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After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
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To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune but to write and read comes by nature.
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Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face for all occasions
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I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
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He that keeps not crust nor crum Weary of all, shall want some.
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Despair and die. The ghosts
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Ideas are the very coinage of your brain.
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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If yon bethink yourself of any crime Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, Solicit for it straight.
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Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself unaccommodated man is no more than such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.
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Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
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He kills her in her own humor.
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Sycorax has grown into a hoop
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With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
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Take all the swift advantage of the hours.
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Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle I am no traitor's uncle, and that word grace In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
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That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimms, and makes it indistinct As water is in water
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