Quote

And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?

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
Thou
Worshippers
Grief
Griefs
Suffering
Idol
Art
Ceremony
Kind
Idols
Mortal
Mortals
Suffer

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Beware Of entrance to a quarrel but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy rich, not gaudy For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
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And the more pity that great folk should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even-Christen.
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Supposition all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
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By Heaven, I love thee better than myself
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He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
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Ambition, the soldier's virtue.
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Wisdom and fortune combating together, If that the former dare but what it can, No chance may shake it.
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Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
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Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity
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Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.
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The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
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Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
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O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
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O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
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Love`s reason`s without reason
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My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
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