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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
Life
Accursed
Passions
Base
Passion
Fear
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.
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It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
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'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.
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Finish, good lady the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.
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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.
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O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper, sprinkle cool patience.
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The course of true love never did run smooth.
William Shakespeare
He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.
William Shakespeare
Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
William Shakespeare
But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.
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When most I wink, then do my eyes best see
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Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.
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The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.
William Shakespeare
Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over low'ring hills. Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.
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Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining.
William Shakespeare
Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
William Shakespeare
She dreams of him that has forgot her love You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!
William Shakespeare
Retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave.
William Shakespeare
Trust not your daughter's minds By what you see them act.
William Shakespeare
