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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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
Humor
Makes
Forgetful
Mother
Rash
Enough
Forbearance
Love
Bear
Anger
Bears
Gave
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won?
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For I can raise no money by vile means.
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Thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.
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I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority: To do a great right, do a little wrong.
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It is lost at dice, what ancient honor won.
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Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.
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Our enemies are our outward consciences.
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Modest wisdom plucks me from over-credulous haste.
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Be advised Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?
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And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire, The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmasks her beauty to the moon.
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks
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... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
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There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
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And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.
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What many men desire--that 'many' may be meant By the fool multitude that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach, Which pries not to th' interior, but like the martlet Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty.
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Give me mine angle, we'll to th' river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws and as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, 'Ah, ha! are caught!'
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Let me not to the marriage of true minds
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I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
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Now no way can I stray Save back to England, all the world's my way.
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Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent.
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