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Remuneration! O! That's the Latin word for three farthings
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
Remuneration
Latin
Word
Three
More quotes by William Shakespeare
By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it save I alone.
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Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.
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The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
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Good wine needs no bush.
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O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating.
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Let's teach ourselves that honorable stop, Not to outsport discretion.
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One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.
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What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.
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If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.
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Experience teacheth that resolution is a sole help in need.
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Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
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Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English.
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I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
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Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.
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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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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
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Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
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Time's glory is to command contending kings, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light.
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
William Shakespeare
