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Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
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
Beauty
White
Cunning
Nature
Laid
Hands
Red
Whose
Truly
Sweet
Hand
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world.
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No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
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O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.
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And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags.
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Do not plunge thyself too far in anger.
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Too much to know is to know naught but fame.
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Their understanding Begins to swell and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shores That now lie foul and muddy.
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Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, but graciously to know I am no better.
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My chastity's the jewel of our house, bequeathed down from many ancestors.
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I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes when they are in great danger I recover them.
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Blood will have blood.
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Farewell, fair cruelty.
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Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
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All pride is willing pride.
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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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Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough.
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Hardness ever of hardness is mother.
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Glory grows guilty of detested crimes.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
William Shakespeare
