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That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
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
Swearing
Blasphemy
Captains
Flat
Flats
Soldier
Word
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Ignorance is the curse of God knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.
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But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.
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O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
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Every cloud engenders not a storm.
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She moves me not, or not removes at least affection's edge in me.
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Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.
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And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
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So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps.
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I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.
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But most it is presumption in us when the help of heaven we count the act of men.
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If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.
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Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
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For youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds Importing health and graveness.
William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
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You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
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This thought is as a death.
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