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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
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
Glorious
Forth
Reach
Gold
Hand
Hands
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
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And nothing is, but what is not.
William Shakespeare
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound And through this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
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My love is deep the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
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To bed, to bed sleep kill those pretty eyes, And give as soft attachment to thy senses, As infants empty of all thought.
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Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. Oh! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint.
William Shakespeare
. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.
William Shakespeare
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated
William Shakespeare
O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. - Romeo -
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Tis no sin for a man to labor in his vocation.
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If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.
William Shakespeare
Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
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I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.
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For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.
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Great men may jest with saints 'tis wit in them But, in the less foul profanation.
William Shakespeare
Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
William Shakespeare
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime...
William Shakespeare
No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
William Shakespeare
She dreams of him that has forgot her love You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!
William Shakespeare
