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The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
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
Thirds
Killing
Comes
Ripening
Blushing
Frost
November
Farewell
Third
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I see, sir, you are liberal in offers. You taught me first to beg, and now methinks You teach me how a beggar should be answered.
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Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
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For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all
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I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.
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Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.
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Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
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Why what a fool was I to this drunken monster for a God. - Caliban
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Gold were as good as twenty orators.
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Literature is a comprehensive essence of the intellectual life of a nation.
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Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit.
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When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.
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Fall Greeks fail fame honour or go or stay My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
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The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar but not gone.
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Why, thou owest god a death.
William Shakespeare
On pain of death, no person be so bold.
William Shakespeare
Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
William Shakespeare
I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.
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Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt that the sun doth move Doubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love.
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What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?
William Shakespeare
