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This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.

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
Looks
Roof
Excellent
Golden
Fretted
Brave
Canopy
Air
Vapour
Fire
Quintessence
Space
Firmament
Look
Congregation

More quotes by William Shakespeare

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Be advised Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?
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Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil With them forgive yourself.
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Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
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The sands are number'd that make up my life Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
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The gloomy shade of death.
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The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.
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We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail.
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Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
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Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
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We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
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Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
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It is a heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in it.
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The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
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Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate, but thankful even for hate that is meant love.
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Oh, that way madness lies let me shun that.
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To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, gives in your weakness strength unto your foe.
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Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
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Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'd a blessed time for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys renown, and grace is dead The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
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This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long
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Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.
William Shakespeare