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Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others.
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
Must
Ring
Rings
Sorrow
Trade
Fool
Business
Others
Play
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Let them obey that knows not how to rule.
William Shakespeare
Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.
William Shakespeare
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
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Drink down all unkindness.
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Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.
William Shakespeare
Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
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Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
William Shakespeare
Oh, God! I have an ill-divining soul!
William Shakespeare
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
William Shakespeare
A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
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Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly a flower that dies when it begins to bud a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
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O, full of scorpions is my mind!
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Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel then what should war be?
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This is the short and the long of it.
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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
William Shakespeare
I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
William Shakespeare
He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
William Shakespeare
You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.
William Shakespeare
