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My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
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
Rest
Share
Hope
Dough
Feast
Cake
Eating
Among
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Affection is a coal that must be cooled else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.
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Love is . . . a madness most discreet
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As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.
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Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
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Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own.
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No particular scandal one can touch but it confounds the breather.
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Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck.
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To you your father should be as a god.
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I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
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Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wronged, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.
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I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
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The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase The dove pursues the griffin the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies.
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No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.
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That is honor's scorn Which challenges itself as honor's born And is not like the sire. Honors thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers.
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Macduff: What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter: Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
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Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.
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Misery makes sport to mock itself.
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