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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
Eternity
Whose
Joy
Name
Names
Wish
Death
World
Excitement
More quotes by William Shakespeare
'Tis thought the king is dead we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.
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Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.
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And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.
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To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.
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Hate pollutes the mind.
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I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good.
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Where I could not be honest, I never yet was valiant.
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Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
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For man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.
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Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
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Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
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Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.
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You are an alchemist make gold of that.
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For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.
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There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind
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Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
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Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding they brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
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I profess not talking: only this, Let each man do his best.
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I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
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