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There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.
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
Lives
Kind
Abate
Love
Wick
Snuff
Breakup
Flame
Flames
Within
More quotes by William Shakespeare
for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)
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This sleep is sound indeed this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings.
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How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown!
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I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.
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For 'tis the sport to have the engineerHoist with his own petard.
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O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.
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Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt he owes For every word.
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So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
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Love is begun by time and time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
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Heaven give you many, many merry days.
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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
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This is the third time I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away go. They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.
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O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
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And either victory, or else a grave.
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I hourly learn a doctrine of obedience.
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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
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Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
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I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
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