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By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
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
Ten
Struck
Shadow
Shadows
Thousand
Soldiers
Soul
Paul
Tonight
Substance
Apostle
Soldier
Apostles
Terror
Richard
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?
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What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
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Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
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Wisely weigh our sorrow with our comfort.
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Go, write it in a martial hand be curst and brief it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss and as many lies as will lie in thy shee.
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This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester, Malevolent to you In all aspects, Which makes him prune himself and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity.
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The last taste of sweets is sweetest last.
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Lechery, lechery still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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Better be with the dead, Whom we to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.
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When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.
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Suffer love a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.
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I am thy father's spirit Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away.
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There is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valor.
William Shakespeare
Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
William Shakespeare
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
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