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Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.
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
Faces
Thrust
Christian
Fools
Street
Atheism
Fool
Streets
Head
Varnish
Public
Gaze
More quotes by William Shakespeare
A maiden hath no tongue--but thought.
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Tis not the many oaths that make the truth But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.
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Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?
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For he was likely, had he been put on, to have proved most royally.
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Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
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I doubt not then but innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush, and tyrannyTremble at patience.
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To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
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To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.
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That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
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O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, leave not the mansion so long tenantless lest, growing ruinous, the building fall and leave no memory of what it was!
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I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker much virtue in If.
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So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground.
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Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troops, and the big wars That make ambition virtue.
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That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged.
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To be in anger is impiety, but who is man that is not angry?
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Alas, I am a woman friendless, hopeless!
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The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
William Shakespeare
Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
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where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
William Shakespeare
Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue but moody and dull melancholy, kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.
William Shakespeare
