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She says I am not fair, that I lack manners She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as Phoenix.
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
Love
Rare
Manners
Fairs
Fair
Lack
Proud
Phoenix
Says
Fairness
Men
Calls
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.
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Parting is such sweet sorrow
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Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know'st thou art and then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.
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My master hath been an honorable gentleman tricks he hath had in him which gentlemen have.
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Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
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Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.
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My love's more richer than my tongue.
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Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.
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Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
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It is lost at dice, what ancient honor won.
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Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
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How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
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You had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.
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Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
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Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service
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There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
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Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
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Well could he ride, and often men would say, That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes! And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
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Love`s reason`s without reason
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There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.
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