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It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
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
Live
Silliness
Life
Prescription
Prescriptions
Physician
Torment
Physicians
Dies
Death
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
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I stand for judgment: answer: shall I have it?
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
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For honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
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Double, double, toil and trouble Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
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Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service
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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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ROMEO to BALTHASAR But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
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But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.
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Enough no more Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
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For what good turn? Messenger: For the best turn of the bed.
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
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In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
William Shakespeare
All the world is a stage and we are merely players.
William Shakespeare
Frailty, thy name is woman!
William Shakespeare
Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!
William Shakespeare
Thou art a very ragged Wart.
William Shakespeare
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
William Shakespeare
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.
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Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger
William Shakespeare
