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Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed.
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
Accursed
Passions
Base
Passion
Fear
Life
More quotes by William Shakespeare
It may do good pride hath no other glass To show itself but pride, for supple knees Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
William Shakespeare
The best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed by those that feel their sharpness.
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Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
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Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
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Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs?
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The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
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Contention, like a horse, Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him.
William Shakespeare
On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
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He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
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Who is here so vile that will not love his country?
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Set your heart at rest. The fairyland buys not the child of me.
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Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.
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Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.
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The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars.
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Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe. There's nothing situate under heaven's eye But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
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And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
William Shakespeare
