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That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
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
Intelligence
Affable
Gulls
Nightly
Ghost
Familiar
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Art made tongue-tied by authority.
William Shakespeare
If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.
William Shakespeare
She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known
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Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
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They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
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You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.
William Shakespeare
It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
William Shakespeare
We suffer a lot the few things we lack and we enjoy too little the many things we have.
William Shakespeare
Obey thy parents, keep thy word justly swear not commit not with man's sworn spouse set not thy sweet heart on proud array. * * * Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy pen from lenders' books.
William Shakespeare
And how his audit stands who knows, save Heaven?
William Shakespeare
More of your conversation would infect my brain.
William Shakespeare
Nothing can seem foul to those who win.
William Shakespeare
Every why has a wherefore.
William Shakespeare
Our wills and fates do so contrary run.
William Shakespeare
On a day - alack the day! - Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air
William Shakespeare
Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
William Shakespeare
They do not love that do not show their love.
William Shakespeare
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
William Shakespeare
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
William Shakespeare
All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.
William Shakespeare
