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Thou hast her, France let her be thine, for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison.
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
Shall
Hast
Gone
Thine
Face
France
Thou
Faces
Daughter
Ever
Childhood
Without
Therefore
Love
Grace
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Not stepping over the bounds of modesty.
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When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence so sweet is zealous contemplation.
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Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must err.
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Life every man holds dear but the dear man holds honor far more precious dear than life.
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O sir, you are old nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.
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Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offense?
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How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
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Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
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O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
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Our jovial star reigned at his birth.
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Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
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Be just, and fear not.
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By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence For courage mounteth with occasion.
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Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound And through this distemperature we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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To be furious, is to be frighted out of fear.
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He that keeps not crust nor crum Weary of all, shall want some.
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If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.
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