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Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole.
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
Mighty
Memorable
Skins
Hearts
Whole
Heart
More quotes by William Shakespeare
To business that we love we rise betime, and go to't with delight.
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O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first it smells of mortality.
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I almost die for food, and let me have it!
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As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd Or Night kept chain'd below.
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Avaunt, you cullions!
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What is past is prologue.
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He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.
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Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
William Shakespeare
O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
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So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.
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Nor aught so good but strained from that fair use, Revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse.
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That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough no more: 'Tis not so sweet as it was before.
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What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.
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'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.
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Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. Do not go forth to-day.
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Let them obey that knows not how to rule.
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I hold my peace, sir? no No, I will speak as liberal as the north Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
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Every why hath a wherefore.
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Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
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I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender. More than my all is nothing nor my prayers Are not words holy hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return.
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