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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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
Breasts
Patience
Noble
Cold
Mean
Men
Entitle
Cowardice
Pale
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.
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Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.
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When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
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Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
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Now is the winter of our discontent.
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At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies.
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A rotten case abides no handling.
William Shakespeare
Officers, what offence have these men done? DOGBERRY Marry, sir, they have committed false report moreover, they have spoken untruths secondarily, they are slanders sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady thirdly, they have verified unjust things and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.
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When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
William Shakespeare
Pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
William Shakespeare
I am thy father's spirit Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away.
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Romeo: Courage, man the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
William Shakespeare
My love is as a fever, longing still.
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven and as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name such tricks hath strong imagination.
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In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.
William Shakespeare
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
William Shakespeare
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.
William Shakespeare
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.
William Shakespeare
A fusty nut with no kernel.
William Shakespeare
