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It is not night when I do see your face.
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
Romantic
Face
Faces
Night
More quotes by William Shakespeare
My wits begin to turn.
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I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking so full of valor that they smote the air, for breathing in their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their feet.
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The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.
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Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.
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If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
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The object of Art is to give life a shape.
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Every great drama has its foreshadow.
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Speak, what trade art thou? Why, sir, a carpenter. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What does thou with thy best apparel on?
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What is more miserable than discontent?
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Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
William Shakespeare
To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.
William Shakespeare
A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
William Shakespeare
the fire seven times tried this seven times tried that judgement is that did never choose amiss some there be that shadows kiss such have but a shadows bliss, there be fool alive, i wis silverd o'er, and so was this Take what wife you will to bed I will ever be your head. So be gone you are sped.
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Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
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O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
William Shakespeare
Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
William Shakespeare
Love adds a precious seeing to the eye.
William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare
Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.
William Shakespeare
