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I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
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
Roman
Rome
Dog
Moon
Rather
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
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You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense.
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I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty
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If she be not honest, chaste, and true, there's no man happy.
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He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.
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Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
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I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
William Shakespeare
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
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Through tattered clothes, small vices do appear. Robes and furred gowns hide all.
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In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73
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Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won?
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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Et tu Brute! (You too, Brutus!)
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It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
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For conspiracy, I know not how it tastes, though it be dished For me to try how.
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?
William Shakespeare
But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike.
William Shakespeare
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.
William Shakespeare
