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Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.
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
Sovereign
Tunes
Noble
Sweet
Law
Reason
Tune
Like
Bells
Harsh
More quotes by William Shakespeare
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.
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That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in. and the best of me is diligence.
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We must every one be a man of his own fancy.
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Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
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The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love.
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You have witchcraft in your lips
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I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong.
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Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies Now thrive the armorers, and honor's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
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If music be the food of love, play on.
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In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73
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Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.
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I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
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Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.
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For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.
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He was not so much brain as earwax
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You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
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Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
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No sooner met but they looked no sooner looked but they loved no sooner loved but they sighed no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.
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Fill all thy bones with aches.
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For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
William Shakespeare
