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It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't.
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
Mines
Mine
Eye
Fear
Look
Looks
Kills
Unto
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure it is a tragedy.
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Greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
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I am wrapped in dismal thinking.
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For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
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This night I hold an old accustomed feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love and you among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
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By that sin fell the angels.
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I scorn you, scurvy companion.
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Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.
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Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye.
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Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
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Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?
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Great griefs medicine the less.
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Nay, we must think men are not gods, Nor of them look for such observancy As fits the bridal.
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The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
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Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
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I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats If it be man's work, I'll do't.
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What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.
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Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
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O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
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Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, His day's hot task hath ended in the west: The owl, night's herald, shrieks-'tis very late The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light, Do summon us to part, and bid good night.
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