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Men at sometime are the masters of their fate.
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
Masters
Inspirational
Men
Sometime
Fate
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Yield not thy neck To fortunes yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
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Take it in what sense thou wilt.
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Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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What e'er thou art, act well thy part.
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Experience is by industry achieved, And perfected by the swift course of time.
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For so work the honey bees, creatures that by a rule in nature teach the act of order to a peopled kingdom.
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We were not born to sue, but to command.
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Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly.
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Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
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They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad
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Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
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Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!
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So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity.
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I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
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He that is thy friend indeed, he will help you in your need.
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She's good, being gone.
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Will Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest terms?
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When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
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Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
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