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Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
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
Heart
Love
Thieves
Sooner
Gold
Beauty
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.
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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
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A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?
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He is not great who is not greatly good.
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Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
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Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
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O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! - Cassio (Act II, Scene iii)
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I do oppose My patience to his fury, and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his.
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It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
William Shakespeare
All the world is a stage and we are merely players.
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Enough no more Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
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The people are the city.
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He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
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Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? And the creature run from the cur. There thou mightst behold the great image of authority-a dog's obeyed in office.
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The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
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Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
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Love moderately long love doth so too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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Bear with my weakness. My old brain is troubled. Be not disturbed with my infirmity.
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The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
William Shakespeare
Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen Neither in inward worth nor outward fair Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
William Shakespeare