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Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye.
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
Bought
Beauty
Eye
Judgement
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
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Love's mind of judgment rarely hath a taste: Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
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What's done can't be undone.
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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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I'll be at charges for a looking-glass And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favor with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost.
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What light through yonder window breaks?
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I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
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How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown!
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Men in rage strike those that wish them best.
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It is certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught as men take diseases, one of another.
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These are the forgeries of jealousy And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
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Woe to that land that's governed by a child.
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I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
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Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
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For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up. Urchins Shall forth at vast of night that they may work All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinched As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.
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As merry as the day is long.
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I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
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At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth But like of each thing that in season grows.
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The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
William Shakespeare
