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Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows' bent none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven.
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
Eternity
None
Eyes
Race
Brows
Heaven
Bent
Poor
Bliss
Eye
Lips
Parts
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I'll have no husband, if you be not he.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
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The object of Art is to give life a shape.
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What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
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The blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness.
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For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
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I have lov'd her ever since I saw her and still I see her beautiful
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She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them
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My love is thine to teach teach it but how, And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn. Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
William Shakespeare
Then imitate the action of the tiger stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
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Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
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My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty!, guilty!
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So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.
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What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes
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Use every man according to his desert and who should 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honor and dignity, the less they deserve ... the more merit in your bounty.
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No legacy is so rich as honesty.
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Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?
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Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace.
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Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
William Shakespeare
