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If is a custom, More honor'd in the breach than the observance.
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
Observance
Breach
Custom
Customs
Honor
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!
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Thanks to men Of noble minds, is honorable meed.
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The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
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Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.
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Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
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Then happy I that love and am beloved, where I may not remove nor be removed.
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It is the cowish terror of his spirit that dares not undertake he'll not feel wrongs which tie him to an answer.
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Take you me for a sponge?
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The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honored or begets him hate For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
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Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud but, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.
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it is not enough to speak, but to speak truee
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Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal do warrant The tenor of my book.
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I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
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There is nothing in the world so much like prayer as music is. ~William Shakespeare
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My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.
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I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender. More than my all is nothing nor my prayers Are not words holy hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return.
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But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
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If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
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May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.
William Shakespeare
