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Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all, admonishing That we should drew us fairly for our end.
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
Preachers
Drew
Outward
Preacher
Besides
Fairly
Conscience
Ends
Consciences
More quotes by William Shakespeare
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry And so I hear he doth account me too.
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Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt he owes For every word.
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Tempt not a desperate man
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Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
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I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.
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Fair is foul, and foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.
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We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.
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Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.
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I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?
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You have her father's love, Demetrius Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him!
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
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For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
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We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh few are angels.
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In right and service to their noble country.
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For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
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That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
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The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.
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We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
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But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.
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But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.
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