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Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.
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
War
Dread
Note
Hath
Notes
Army
Face
Faces
Upon
Royal
More quotes by William Shakespeare
What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee
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And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
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Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
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Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*
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One sees more devils than vast hell can hold
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They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
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The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
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Better three hours too soon, than one hour to late.
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Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
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Light seeking light doth light of light beguile: So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
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Things past redress are now with me past care
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But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.
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What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
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To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune but to write and read comes by nature.
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O, this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a robe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such pain the cap of him that makes him fine Yet keeps his book uncrossed.
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There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history, fully unfold.
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
William Shakespeare
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side
William Shakespeare
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects treachery?
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He makes a July's day short as December.
William Shakespeare
