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T'is true: there's magic in the web of 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
Literacy
Magic
Reading
True
More quotes by William Shakespeare
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
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The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night.
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Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
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A maiden hath no tongue--but thought.
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Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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Men of few words are the best men. (3.2.41)
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Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you.
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Lawn as white as driven snow Cyprus black as e'er was crow Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
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I say, without characters, fame lives long.
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The arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just.
William Shakespeare
O the world is but a word were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
William Shakespeare
Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
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O wretched state! o bosom black as death!
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And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.
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When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection.
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Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.
William Shakespeare
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
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I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say - I love you
William Shakespeare
On a day - alack the day! - Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air
William Shakespeare
