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Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to th's first.
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
First
Heirs
Letter
Stood
Affection
Letters
Second
Goes
Gradation
Firsts
Heir
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately— long love doth so.
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He hath not eat paper, as it were he hath not drunk ink his intellect is not replenished he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
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Speak comfortable words.
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Thou hast not half that power to do me harm As I have to be hurt.
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To be furious, is to be frighted out of fear.
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Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave.
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The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
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They say miracles are past.
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When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
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Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
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Most friendship is faining, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly. This life is most jolly.
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When faced with a sea of troubles, take action, and in so doing end it.
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Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers they hold up Adam's profession.
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We will have rings and things and fine array
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Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!
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Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.
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No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
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Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
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There's daggers in men's smiles.
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O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
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