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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
They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.
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Experience teacheth that resolution is a sole help in need.
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Yes, faith it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say 'Father, as it please you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say 'Father, as it please me.
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Making night hideous.
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Press not a falling man too far 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws let them, Not you, correct him.
William Shakespeare
O no, thy love though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.
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Men's vows are women's traitors
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Mercutio: If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
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My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.
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Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
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For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all
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Never anger made good guard for itself.
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Poor and content, is rich and rich enough But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
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Mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him!
William Shakespeare
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
William Shakespeare
Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.
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What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
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