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Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind And makes it fearful and degenerate.
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
Heard
Makes
Mind
Softens
Degenerate
Degenerates
Fearful
Grief
More quotes by William Shakespeare
In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.
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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.
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To saucy doubts and fears.
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The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order.
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Take her away for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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What light through yonder window breaks?
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Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
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He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.
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Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
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Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
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In delay there lies no plenty.
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Fear no more the heat o' th' sun Nor the furious winters' rages Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
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Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
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The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
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Light seeking light doth light of light beguile: So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
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Time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arm outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer.
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I have no other but a woman's reason: I think him so, because I think him so.
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Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
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