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And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
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
Fear
Heart
Mischiefs
Mischief
Smile
Hearts
Millions
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
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Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o'Sunday
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Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? Malvolio: Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. Feste: But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in you wits than a fool.
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Henceforth, I'll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself, 'Enough, enough, and die.
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.
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To pore upon a book, to seek the light of truth.
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Death rock me asleep.
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Love sees with the heart and not with mind.
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This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.
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We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
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Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.
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You know who you are, but know not who you could be.
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O wretched state! o bosom black as death!
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Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favor, dream as I have done Wake, and find nothing.
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Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
William Shakespeare
