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The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
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
Thrones
Sat
Water
Like
Burnish
Barge
Barges
Burnt
Throne
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender. More than my all is nothing nor my prayers Are not words holy hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return.
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Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all, admonishing That we should drew us fairly for our end.
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Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.
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Many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing.
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven keep me in temper I would not be mad!
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Constant you are, But yet a woman and for secrecy, No lady closer for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.
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I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
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Can I go forward when my heart is here?
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Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well
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Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, But to procrastinate his liveless end.
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But fish not with this melancholy bait For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
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Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.
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If she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
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I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.
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Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
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Good luck lies in odd numbers.
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O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
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And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
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That we would do We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents, And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
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Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.
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