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Crack'd in pieces by malignant 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
Death
Malignant
Crack
Cracks
Pieces
More quotes by William Shakespeare
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
William Shakespeare
The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.
William Shakespeare
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
William Shakespeare
The miserable have no other medicine But only hope.
William Shakespeare
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
William Shakespeare
The people are the city.
William Shakespeare
One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
William Shakespeare
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
William Shakespeare
Who are the violets now That strew the lap of the new-come spring?
William Shakespeare
Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
William Shakespeare
Hang him, swaggering rascal!
William Shakespeare
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
William Shakespeare
If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.
William Shakespeare
An angel or, if not, An earthly paragon.
William Shakespeare
I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
William Shakespeare
My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.
William Shakespeare
O villains, vipers, dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
William Shakespeare
Ingratitude is monstrous and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a monster of the multitude of which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.
William Shakespeare
Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away
William Shakespeare
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket picked?
William Shakespeare
