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For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.
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
Giving
Naught
Good
Vile
Juliet
Doth
Special
Earth
Give
Live
Friars
More quotes by William Shakespeare
My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax no levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.
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What light through yonder window breaks?
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O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
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So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.
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My salad days, When I was green in judgment.
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True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
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When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swollen face?
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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Who is it can read a woman?
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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For now they kill me with a living death.
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Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
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I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)
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Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
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Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.
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While we lie tumbling in the hay.
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I am not in the giving vein today.
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Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
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Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done joy's soul lies in the doing: That she beloved knows naught, that knows not this-- Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
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I hope to see London once ere I die.
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