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Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
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
Heir
Heirs
Juliet
Son
Law
Death
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
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Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
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I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
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It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you will desire and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
William Shakespeare
Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
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O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
William Shakespeare
This is the third time I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away go. They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.
William Shakespeare
The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
William Shakespeare
But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat.
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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A very little little let us do And all is done.
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Small to greater matters must give way.
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Hate pollutes the mind.
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One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
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Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
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Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?
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O, how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors.
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His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
William Shakespeare
How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
William Shakespeare
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
William Shakespeare
