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That is the way to lay the city flat, To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin.
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
Way
Roof
Ranges
Ruins
Heaps
Range
Piles
Lays
Distinctly
Foundation
Bury
City
Flat
Cities
Ruin
Bring
Flats
More quotes by William Shakespeare
My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows, I am roughand lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
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All hoods make not monks.
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true apothecary thy drugs art quick
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Still constant is a wondrous excellence.
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No place indeed should murder sanctuarize Revenge should have no bounds.
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Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.
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A merry heart goes all the way, - A sad one tires inan hour.
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Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service
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Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*
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Women speak two languages - one of which is verbal.
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If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.
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What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish a very ancient and fishlike smell a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!
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To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.
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Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.
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You kiss by th' book.
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The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.
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When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.
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Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
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How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
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Faint heart never won fair maid.
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