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It is the very error of the moon She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, And makes men mad.
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
Comes
Makes
Earth
Wont
Men
Nearer
Error
Mad
Errors
Moon
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
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Death is a fearful thing.
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Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
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The king's name is a tower of strength.
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For I am nothing if not critical.
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He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.
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The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you The malice towards you to forgive you.
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I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book.
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No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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Faith, stay here this night they will surely do us no harm you saw they speak us fair, give us gold methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
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You know who you are, but know not who you could be.
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O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world.
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What is more miserable than discontent?
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Justice always whirls in equal measure.
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And thence from Athens turn away our eyes To seek new friends and stranger companies.
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There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
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We were not born to sue, but to command.
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No, I will be the pattern of all patience I will say nothing.
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O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
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I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hacked.
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