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Abandon all remorse On horror's head horrors accumulate.
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
Abandon
Horror
Head
Accumulate
Horrors
Remorse
More quotes by William Shakespeare
But fish not with this melancholy bait For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
William Shakespeare
This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
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There's such divinity doth hedge a king That treason can but peep to what it would.
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Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
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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
I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
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Slanders, sir, for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging think amber and plum-tree gum, and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.
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Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.
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Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have To wear away this long age of three hours Between our after-supper and bedtime?
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Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.
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T'is true: there's magic in the web of it.
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The pleasing punishment that women bear.
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Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
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For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
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There is flattery in friendship.
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For she had eyes and chose me.
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If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could I bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, I the earth.
William Shakespeare
