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I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
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
Cry
Rather
Mongers
Metre
Ballads
Kitten
Ballet
More quotes by William Shakespeare
You have witchcraft in your lips, there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs.
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Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.
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Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
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My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
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When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
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Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.
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The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
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He makes a July's day short as December.
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I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
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I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
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With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.
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We must every one be a man of his own fancy.
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The Dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service Are they inform'd of this?
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Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion!
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Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit
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All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
William Shakespeare
