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. . . nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.
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
Away
Sympathy
Nothing
Throw
Twere
Thing
Leaving
Trifle
Life
Became
Owed
Like
Died
Dearest
Comfort
Trifles
Study
Careless
Death
Studied
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.
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I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong.
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I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her. If she be a traitor, Why, so am I. We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.
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I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
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Death-counterfeiting sleep.
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Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
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For to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
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He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love
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Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
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I have a bone to pick with Fate
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And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot And thereby hangs a tale.
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.
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Sweets to the sweet.
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And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
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Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
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I am not merry, but I do beguile the thing I am by seeming otherwise.
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A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.
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Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.
William Shakespeare
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
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