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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
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our own virtues.
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Would the cook were o' my mind!
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If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue.
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Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.
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And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do
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Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. (Benedick, from Much Ado About Nothing)
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Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
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What, gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do it cannot speak, For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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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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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
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Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all, admonishing That we should drew us fairly for our end.
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Good name in man and woman is the immediate jewel of their souls.
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For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.
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Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. For whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.
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O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! - Cassio (Act II, Scene iii)
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O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell
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Nor shall this peace sleep with her but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new-create another heir As great in admiration as herself.
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Take pains. Be perfect.
William Shakespeare
