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Come not within the measure of my wrath.
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
Come
Wrath
Memorable
Measure
Within
More quotes by William Shakespeare
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother
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The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
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Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by
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Mine honor is my life, both grow in one. Take honor from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try In that I live, and for that I will die.
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My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
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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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What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say
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Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.
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Time's the king of men he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.
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A good wit will make use of anything.
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Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die.
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If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue!
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Keep thy friend Under thy own life's key.
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You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.
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Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th' entire point.
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Great men may jest with saints 'tis wit in them But, in the less foul profanation.
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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
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My desolation does begin to make A better life.
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Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.
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Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offense?
William Shakespeare
