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I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
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
Things
Forbear
Hurling
Hardly
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
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He is winding the watch of his wit by and by it will strike.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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When the age is in, the wit is out
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Preposterous ass, that never read so far to know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man, after his studies or his usual pain?
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I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.
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I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope.
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But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike.
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O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.
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Give me my robe, put on my crown I have Immortal longings in me.
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
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[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.
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Passion lends them power, time means to meet, tempering extremities with extremes sweet.
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By being seldom seen, I could not stir But like a comet I was wondered at.
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Opinion crowns with an imperial voice.
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Use almost can change the stamp of nature.
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Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canter dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
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O no, thy love though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near.
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And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
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