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Here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to 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
Bows
Kings
Sorrow
War
Come
Throne
Sorrows
Thrones
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
William Shakespeare
This is a gift that I have, simple, simple a foolish extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.
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We must follow, not force Providence.
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We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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Come not within the measure of my wrath.
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O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the Devil!
William Shakespeare
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, / I must not look to have but, in their stead, / Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, / Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not (5.3.25-28).
William Shakespeare
Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?
William Shakespeare
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
William Shakespeare
No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
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Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
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Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.
William Shakespeare
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound And through this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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Wishers were ever fools.
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She cannot love, nor take no shape nor project or affection, she is so self-endeared
William Shakespeare
Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights Four nights will quickly dream away the time And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.
William Shakespeare
Fill all thy bones with aches.
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Lend less than you owe.
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The dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
William Shakespeare
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
William Shakespeare
