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If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark
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
Cannot
Love
Mark
Blind
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess!
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Let's meet as little as we can
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Should the poor be flattered? No let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.
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Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.
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O villains, vipers, dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
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You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
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Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.
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The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
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But like of each thing that in season grows.
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Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.
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His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.
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The leopard does not change his spots.
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There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
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One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
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Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence
William Shakespeare
My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things.
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Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun.
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