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I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot Follow your spirit: and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!
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
Stand
Slips
Games
Charge
Start
George
Upon
Saint
Greyhounds
Spirit
Cry
Afoot
Like
England
Straining
Follow
Breach
Game
Harry
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender. More than my all is nothing nor my prayers Are not words holy hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return.
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An angel or, if not, An earthly paragon.
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Men should be what they seem.
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Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.
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That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in. and the best of me is diligence.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
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We that are true lovers run into strange capers.
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A plague on both your houses.
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The curse of marriage That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites!
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Yet, do thy worst, old Time despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.
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Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.
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Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.
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Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.
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By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers! but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word approve me, lord.
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Courage mounteth with occasion.
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Why, this hath not a finger's dignity.
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All things that we ordained festival Turn from their office to black funeral-- Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse And all things change them to the contrary.
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Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
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Who is it that can tell me who I am?
William Shakespeare
