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Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
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
Virtue
Patched
Amends
Sin
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell
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Honor, riches, marriage-blessing Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you!
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
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Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
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Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
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When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swollen face?
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Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute 'shall'?
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Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.
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I will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.
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If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it.
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Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
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Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.
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The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
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I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure it is a tragedy.
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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Lawn as white as driven snow Cyprus black as e'er was crow Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
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The present eye praises the present object.
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He hath not eat paper, as it were he hath not drunk ink his intellect is not replenished he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. (Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, IV)
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