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We cannot fight for love, as men may do we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo
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
Fight
Fighting
Cannot
May
Made
Men
Love
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Accommodated that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated or when a man is, being, whereby a' may be thought to be accommodated,?which is an excellent thing.
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What is done cannot be now amended.
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
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Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often stilled my brawling discontent.
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My pride fell with my fortunes.
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If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud you again.
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Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye.
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Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, bear t that th' opposed may beware of thee.
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If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.
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Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
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Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I every man to his business.
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To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder, In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cross lightning.
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The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause.
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Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
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Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated
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The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
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I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme. . .
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You have too much respect upon the world They lose it that do buy it with much care
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O, where is loyalty? If it be banished from the frosty head, Where shall it find a harbor in the earth?
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