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Mine honour is my life both grow in one Take honour from me, and my life is done.
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
Grow
Respect
Hypocrisy
Grows
Karma
Character
Honour
Take
Integrity
Done
Mines
Life
Mine
Identity
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let me not live, after my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff of younger spirits.
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There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind
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And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischiefs.
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Give me a staff of honor for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world.
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I do not hate a proud man, as I do hate the engendering of toads.
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Great griefs medicine the less.
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For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
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What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows?
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Let's all cry peace, freedom, and liberty!
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Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.
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But when the fox hath once got in his nose, He'll soon find means to make the body follow.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain--so worse can come to fight And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
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I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.
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Love is the greatest of dreams, yet the worst of nightmares.
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He is white-livered and red-faced.
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But virtue never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven.
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No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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Men in rage strike those that wish them best.
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