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Rest you fair, good signior Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
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
Fair
Mouths
Worship
Rest
Lasts
Last
Good
Fairness
Men
Fairs
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.
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Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
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I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap
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This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.
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Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.
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Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.
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Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
William Shakespeare
A dream itself is but a shadow.
William Shakespeare
Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
William Shakespeare
What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?
William Shakespeare
Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
William Shakespeare
O, how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors.
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The curse of marriage That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites!
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Ideas are the very coinage of your brain.
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As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
William Shakespeare
For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.
William Shakespeare
O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?
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My love is thaw'd Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
William Shakespeare
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.
William Shakespeare
Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend.
William Shakespeare
