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When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.
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
Forgot
Grace
Goes
Nothing
Right
More quotes by William Shakespeare
That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
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The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
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Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
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An two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind.
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He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
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A young man married is a man that's marred.
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Friendship is full of dregs.
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But when the fox hath once got in his nose, He'll soon find means to make the body follow.
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Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.
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Now my charms are all o'erthrown.
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The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.
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Come, Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's mock the midnight bell.
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It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.
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Glory grows guilty of detested crimes.
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Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.
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I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers, none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued maltworms, but with nobility and tranquillity.
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Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
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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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Nay, had I pow'r, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.
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An old black ram is tupping your white ewe
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