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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.
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
Lips
Hath
Dear
Queens
Sweet
Jealous
Since
Carried
Heaven
Revenge
True
Kiss
Long
Kissing
Exile
Thee
Queen
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.
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Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.
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Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
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What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, for one to thrust his hand between his teeth, when he might spurn him with his foot away?
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Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning One pain is less'ned by another's anguish Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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Time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will.
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Let me not live, after my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff of younger spirits.
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I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
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I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
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Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
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Do not give dalliance too much rein the strongest oaths are straw to the fire in the blood.
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The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible.
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Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how many of my old acquaintance are dead!
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Against ill chances men are ever merry, But heaviness foreruns the good event.
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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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This liberty is all that I request.
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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
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Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
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They are but beggars that can count their worth.
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