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Confess yourself to heaven, Repent what's past, avoid what is to come, And do not spread the compost on the weeds To make them ranker.
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
Avoid
Spread
Heaven
Compost
Past
Weeds
Come
Confess
Make
Repent
Confession
Weed
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions.
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Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
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Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes Unwhipped of justice.
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Trip over love, you can get up. Fall in love and you fall forever. Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
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Some falls the means are happier to rise.
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Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears.
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In jest, there is truth.
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Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling.
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Away, you mouldy rogue, away!
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Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
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I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.
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So quick bright things come to confusion.
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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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Let no such man be trusted.
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Light and lust are deadly enemies.
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Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
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The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody: Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.
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And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
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