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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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
Salt
Memorable
Youth
More quotes by William Shakespeare
They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.
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I see, sir, you are liberal in offers. You taught me first to beg, and now methinks You teach me how a beggar should be answered.
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He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.
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As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.
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A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously the very ice of chastity is in them.
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Jesters do oft prove prophets.
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All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of--boils and plagues Plaster you o'er that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen, and one infect another Against the wind a mile!
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Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.
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When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
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A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
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Wishers were ever fools.
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Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
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The heart hath treble wrong When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
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I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
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Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away
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That is the way to lay the city flat, To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin.
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There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave
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Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
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I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
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Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers they hold up Adam's profession.
William Shakespeare
