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When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
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
Leaves
Winter
Hand
Fall
Hands
Great
More quotes by William Shakespeare
All surfeit is the father of much fast.
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Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.
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I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.
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Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. (Benedick, from Much Ado About Nothing)
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The patient must minister to himself
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The apparel oft proclaims the man.
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There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.
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Listen to many, speak to a few.
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I am afeard there are few die well that die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their argument?
William Shakespeare
Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires.
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O,speak to me no morethese words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!) — William Shakespeare hamlet
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When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.
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I will not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump with common spirits And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
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To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain If lost, why then a grievous labour won However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
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Women are not In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure the ne'er-touched vestal.
William Shakespeare
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
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Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
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When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.
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My love is as a fever, longing still.
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All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
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