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Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.
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
Detestable
Womb
Thou
Death
More quotes by William Shakespeare
As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
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O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
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Holy, fair, and wise is she The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
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Reputation is an idle and most false imposition oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
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Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
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My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.
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Silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
William Shakespeare
I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
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April ... hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
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Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
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When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
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Love's mind of judgment rarely hath a taste: Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
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Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.
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And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
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Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
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Too much to know is to know nought but fame And every godfather can give a name.
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We must every one be a man of his own fancy.
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I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
William Shakespeare
For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
William Shakespeare