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His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.

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
Speech
Friend
Voice
Detract
Speak
Speeches
Wells
Backward
Well
Utter
Foul
Forward

More quotes by William Shakespeare

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To sue to live, I find I seek to die And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
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I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
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The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
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Nothing comes from doing nothing.
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It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?
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Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use
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To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
William Shakespeare
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Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
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Nay, had I pow'r, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.
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Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? BEATRICE Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. BENEDICK O, stay but till then! BEATRICE 'Then' is spoken fare you well now... (Much Ado About Nothing)
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Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!
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Make not your thoughts your prisons.
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Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
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It is the witness still of excellency to put a strange face on his own perfection.
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The icy precepts of respect.
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Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
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Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.
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But virtue never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven.
William Shakespeare
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He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.
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One man in his time plays many parts.
William Shakespeare