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God mark thee to His grace! Thou was the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. And might I live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
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
Married
Baby
Grace
Nursed
Wish
Prettiest
Live
Babe
Might
Thou
Thee
Mark
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.
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The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
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To say the truth, so Judas kissed his master And cried, 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm.
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One sin another doth provoke.
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Wolves and bears, they say, casting their savagery aside, have done like offices of pity.
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Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.
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How use doth breed a habit in a man.
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
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On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
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The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
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Free from gross passion or of mirth of anger constant spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.
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Slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.
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In right and service to their noble country.
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Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
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Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
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If it be honor in your wars to seem The same you are not,--which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy--how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war: since that to both It stands in like request?
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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
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When the age is in, the wit is out
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Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
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Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
William Shakespeare