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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague 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
Make
Lear
Plague
Memorable
Pleasant
Vices
Gods
Instruments
More quotes by William Shakespeare
When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
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They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.
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When workmen strive to do better than well, they do confound their skill in covetousness.
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
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Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
William Shakespeare
O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip Hath virgined it e'er since.
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A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us His dew falls everywhere.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
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Courage mounteth with occasion.
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Cursed be he that moves my bones.
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To be direct and honest is not safe.
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It is the purpose that makes strong the vow But vows to every purpose must not hold.
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Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian- Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong- Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art.
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Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
William Shakespeare
The object of Art is to give life a shape.
William Shakespeare
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
William Shakespeare
A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
William Shakespeare
Ingratitude is monstrous and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a monster of the multitude of which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.
William Shakespeare
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages, long ago betid
William Shakespeare
