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And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
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
Perform
Destiny
Past
Come
Prologue
Whereof
Discharge
Tempest
More quotes by William Shakespeare
You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.
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I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
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I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil that's in me should set hell on fire.
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A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*
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But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
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Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.
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Henceforth, I'll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself, 'Enough, enough, and die.
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I have a bone to pick with Fate
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Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs.
William Shakespeare
As chaste as unsunned snow.
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That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches one that would circumvent God, might it not?
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Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law 'twill hardly come out.
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I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.
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Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
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And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.
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But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.
William Shakespeare
What e'er thou art, act well thy part.
William Shakespeare
In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.
William Shakespeare
How many cowards whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who inward searched, have livers white as milk!
William Shakespeare
