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My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.
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
Two
Shore
Ears
Mines
Mine
Judgment
Twixt
Dangerous
Traded
Eyes
Shores
Eye
Pilots
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Report me and my cause aright.
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One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed nor doth the general care Take hold on me for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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Ay, is it not a language I speak?
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The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company.
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ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.
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Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather have eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.
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Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.
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And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence
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At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
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There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.
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All that glitters is not gold.
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Take her away for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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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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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
William Shakespeare
Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen can passage find That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
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The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
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That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
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At once, good night- Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.
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And Caesar shall go forth.
William Shakespeare
