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If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not
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
Pleased
Kiss
Breaths
Liked
Complexions
Kissing
Defied
Woman
Beards
Many
Complexion
Would
Beard
More quotes by William Shakespeare
When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.
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In limited professions there's boundless theft.
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Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds.
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To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.
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Some kinds of baseness are nobly undergone.
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Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over low'ring hills. Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?
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I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.
William Shakespeare
Experience teacheth us That resolution 's a sole help at need: And this, my lord, our honour teacheth us, That we be bold in every enterprise: Then since there is no way, but fight or die, Be resolute, my lord, for victory.
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I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come (Phebe)
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Condemn the fault and not the actor of it?
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Loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
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Zounds! sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil bid you.
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Better three hours too soon, than one hour to late.
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This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
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These are the forgeries of jealousy And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.
William Shakespeare
Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court.
William Shakespeare
We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.
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What, can the devil speak true?
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Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
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