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Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.
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
Give
Lady
Littles
Mines
Little
Mine
Giving
Silence
Much
Joy
Happy
Dote
Upon
Herald
Away
Exchange
More quotes by William Shakespeare
What is light, if Sylvia be not seen? What is joy if Sylvia be not by?
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You know who you are, but know not who you could be.
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Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
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There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail.
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Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
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thy wit is a very bitter sweeting it is a most sharp sauce.
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Nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal.
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Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!
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Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee.
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Anger is like A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, Self-mettle tires him.
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Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.
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Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favor, dream as I have done Wake, and find nothing.
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They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.
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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly a flower that dies when it begins to bud a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
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Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.
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The prince of darkness is a gentleman!
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Take physic, pomp Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them And show the heavens more just.
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My wits begin to turn.
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The pleasing punishment that women bear.
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After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
William Shakespeare
