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Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt he owes For every word.
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
State
Owes
Wish
Promises
Speak
Wishes
Power
Speaks
States
Debt
Every
Promise
Make
Beyond
Good
Word
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Nay, had I pow'r, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.
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Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.
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No profit grows where no pleasure is taken.
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I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
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What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye
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Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
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A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.
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A fusty nut with no kernel.
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Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it.
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Time ... thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.
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I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
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Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.
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But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.
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I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
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But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy, Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great: Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose but Fortune, O!
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O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
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Gold--what can it not do, and undo?
William Shakespeare
