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That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged.

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
Return
Home
Time
Love
Like
Ranged
Exchanged
Travels

More quotes by William Shakespeare

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Benvolio- By my head, here come the Capulets. Mercutio- By my heel, I care not.
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Ah me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is!
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For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.
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How many cowards whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who inward searched, have livers white as milk!
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Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
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Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.
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Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
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On your eyelids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep As is the difference betwixt day and night The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.
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I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind.
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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
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Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
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The love of wicked men converts to fear That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
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Stars, hide your fires Let not light see my black and deep desires.
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These words are razors to my wounded heart.
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Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
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A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as dot an inland brook Into the main of waters.
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In friendship, as in love, we are often happier through our ignorance than our knowledge.
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