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Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
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
Ever
Unto
Morn
Like
Flaws
Wreck
Birds
Tempest
Red
Shepherds
Field
Herds
Bird
Wrecks
Gusts
Sorrow
Woe
Seaman
Fields
Foul
Seamen
More quotes by William Shakespeare
A kind Of excellent dumb discourse.
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Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.
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Be bloody, bold, and resolute laugh to scorn the power of man.
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To sleep perchance to dream
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New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.
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And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.
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Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
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I have more care to stay than will to go.
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Happy thou art not for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get and what thou hast, forgettest.
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I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.
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Love all. Trust a few. Do wrong to none. This above all: to thine own self be true. No legacy is so rich as honesty. Brevity is the soul of wit
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Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.
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Our praises are our wages.
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Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
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This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.
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Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
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O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
William Shakespeare
[S]ince brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.
William Shakespeare
It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
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Why what a fool was I to this drunken monster for a God. - Caliban
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