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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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
Justice
Breaks
Straw
Break
Hide
Gowns
Strong
Vices
Straws
Doe
Appear
Robes
Great
Sin
Rags
Gold
Pierce
Furred
Clothes
Plate
Tattered
Arms
Plates
Lance
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity
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Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
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So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.
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Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
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Look how the world's poor people are amazed at apparitions, signs and prodigies!
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There's small choice in rotten apples.
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He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
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She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
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I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely.
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We have seen better days.
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.
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Cheerily to sea the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France
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You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!
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If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark
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Your praises will become your wages.
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Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
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Thyself shall see the act For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.
William Shakespeare
Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die.
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Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.
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