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Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
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
Terrible
Seen
Evil
Death
Life
Sign
Approach
More quotes by William Shakespeare
That is honor's scorn Which challenges itself as honor's born And is not like the sire. Honors thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers.
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Here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
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To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
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'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.
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A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
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Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.
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So may I, blind fortune leading me, Miss that which one unworthier may attain, And die with grieving.
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Truth is truth to the end of reckoning.
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The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
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The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order.
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Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!
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Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.
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So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
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Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
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Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
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And a man's life's no more than to say One.
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Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.
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Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
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O, reason not the need!
William Shakespeare
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
William Shakespeare
