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Macbeth to Witches: What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth, And yet are on 't?
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
Witch
Wild
Earth
Look
Macbeth
Looks
Attire
Like
Wither
Witches
Inhabitants
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I do begin to have bloody thoughts.
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A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain,... makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes.
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What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
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Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
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New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous (Nay, let em be unmanly), yet are followed.
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Take her away for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.
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Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. For whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.
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In struggling with misfortunes lies the true proof of virtue.
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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Prophet may you be! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, when time is old and hath forgot itself, when waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, and blind oblivion swallowed cities up, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, yet let memory, from false to false, among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!
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Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
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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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Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.
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Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen can passage find That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
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This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
William Shakespeare
Opinion crowns with an imperial voice.
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Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
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Truth needs no color beauty, no pencil.
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But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices.
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