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Celebrity is never more admired than by the negligent.
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
Fame
Never
Negligent
Haste
Admired
Celebrity
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Take you me for a sponge?
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O God, I could be bound in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams.
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I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
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A scar nobly got is a good livery of honor.
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Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave.
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He who has injured thee was either stronger or weaker than thee. If weaker, spare him if stronger, spare thyself.
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O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world, And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation.
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I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
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Abandon all remorse On horror's head horrors accumulate.
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From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
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I dare do all that may become a man Who dares do more, is none
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The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
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You have witchcraft in your lips, there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs.
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Double, double, toil and trouble Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!
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Journeys end in lovers meeting.
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Speak on, but be not over-tedious.
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There's a time for all things.
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What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To wash it white as snow?
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Lord, what fools these mortals be!
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The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.
William Shakespeare
