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He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.
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
Promise
Feats
Courage
Borne
Beyond
Lambs
Age
Lion
Lions
Hath
Figure
Figures
Lamb
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.
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Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
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He is as full of valor as of kindness. Princely in both.
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That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
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Virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin and sin that amends is but patched with virtue.
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Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!
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Sweets to the sweet.
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Nor age so eat up my invention.
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I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
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To be generous, guiltless, and of a free disposition is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets.
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Were kisses all the joys in bed, One woman would another wed.
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What soilders whey-face? The English for so please you. Take thy face hence.
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My cousin's a fool, and thou art another.
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So many hours must I take my rest So many hours must I contemplate.
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He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
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How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
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. . . nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.
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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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