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My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
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
Name
Names
Wish
Death
World
Excitement
Eternity
Whose
Joy
More quotes by William Shakespeare
How now, wit! Whither wander you?
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The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
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She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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I am asham'd that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace.
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Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
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Are you up to your destiny?
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Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! *It’s sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it’s actually very rough when you experience it.*
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Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.
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You speak an infinite deal of nothing.
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And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
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How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
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His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate his tears pure messengers sent from his heart his heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth
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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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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh!
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Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
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The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars.
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My heart is turned to stone I strike it, and it hurts my hand.
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Cry havoc! and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
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