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Be just, and fear not.
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
Anxiety
Justice
Fear
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates.
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Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.
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A scar nobly got is a good livery of honor.
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Fair ladies, masked, are roses in their bud Dismasked, the damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
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Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.
William Shakespeare
What soilders whey-face? The English for so please you. Take thy face hence.
William Shakespeare
Truly the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear.
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This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
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Now no way can I stray Save back to England, all the world's my way.
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They that touch pitch will be defiled.
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This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
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A glooming peace this morning with it brings The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
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When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
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A little more than kin, and less than kind.
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So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head?
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I am that merry wanderer of the night.
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Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.
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