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I am not prone to weeping as our sex commonly are the want of which vain dew perchance shall dry your pities but I have that honorable grief lodged here which burns worse than tears drown.
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
Sorrow
Weeping
Pities
Sex
Honorable
Lodged
Tears
Dry
Perchance
Shall
Vain
Dew
Women
Pity
Prone
Grief
Drown
Cry
Burns
Worse
Commonly
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O wretched state! o bosom black as death!
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Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.
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Reason thus with life: If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep.
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Is not the truth the truth?
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The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.
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Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
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To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune but to write and read comes by nature.
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Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.
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How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?
William Shakespeare
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
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The object of Art is to give life a shape.
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Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
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If I had my mouth, I would bite if I had my liberty, I would do my liking. In the meantime, let me be that I am, and seek not toalter me.
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There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.
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I can express no kinder sign of love, than this kind kiss.
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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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Virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
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I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.
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But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike.
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Hamlet: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Ophelia: 'Tis brief, my lord. Hamlet: As woman's love.
William Shakespeare
