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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
Love
Bear
Anger
Bears
Gave
Humor
Makes
Forgetful
Mother
Rash
Enough
Forbearance
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
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Under loves heavy burden do I sink. --Romeo
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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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That which I would discover The law of friendship bids me to conceal.
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Examine well your blood.
William Shakespeare
'Tis thought the king is dead we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.
William Shakespeare
Lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.
William Shakespeare
You taught me language, and my profit on't / Is, I know how to curse
William Shakespeare
We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
William Shakespeare
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
William Shakespeare
Talkers are no good doers.
William Shakespeare
I can give the loser leave to chide.
William Shakespeare
What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
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It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.
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To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.
William Shakespeare
Why, who cries out on pride that can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea till the weary very means do ebb?
William Shakespeare
A grandma's name is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother.
William Shakespeare
The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.
William Shakespeare
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
William Shakespeare
