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The latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.
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
Ends
Guest
Fits
Guests
Fighter
Latter
Dull
Fray
Fit
Feast
Beginning
Keen
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For the poor wren (The most diminutive of birds) will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
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From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
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It is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds, Which shackles accidents and bolts up change.
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If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied.
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Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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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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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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Anger's my meat. I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.
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How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown!
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Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary
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Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
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Friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
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So. Lie there, my art.
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All his successors gone before him have done 't and all his ancestors that come after him may.
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I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.
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His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
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Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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Put money in thy purse.
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I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
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