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For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
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
Lasting
Excitement
Begins
Joy
Hope
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.
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Sycorax has grown into a hoop
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Truth needs no color beauty, no pencil.
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Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.
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And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
William Shakespeare
Beauty within itself should not be wasted.
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I can give the loser leave to chide.
William Shakespeare
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.
William Shakespeare
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
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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
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Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
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Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.
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My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.
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Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste.
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Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.
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He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
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A good heart 'is worth gold.
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The painful warrior famous for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil'd, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd
William Shakespeare
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
William Shakespeare
Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
William Shakespeare
