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The truest poetry is the most feigning.
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
Feigning
Touchstones
Truest
Poetry
More quotes by William Shakespeare
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder, In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cross lightning.
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O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
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What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?
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My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things.
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You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
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This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property ordoes itself and leads the will to desperate undertakings.
William Shakespeare
And nothing is, but what is not.
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Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
William Shakespeare
Is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
William Shakespeare
'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
William Shakespeare
Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act.
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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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Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!
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You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense.
William Shakespeare
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
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I'll read enough When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.
William Shakespeare
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
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You have but mistook me all the while... I live by bread like you, taste grief, feel want, need friends. Conditioned thus how can you call me king?
William Shakespeare
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile Filths savour but themselves.
William Shakespeare
Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.
William Shakespeare
