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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
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
Giants
Gates
Turbans
Sun
Impious
High
Arched
Keep
Monarchs
May
Jet
Without
Royalty
Good
Morrow
More quotes by William Shakespeare
I stalk about her door, like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for waftage.
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Pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
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Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.
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O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a pardon after execution. That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.
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Great floods have flown From simple sources.
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Her father lov'd me oft invited me Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass'd.
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O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
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Welcome ever smiles, and farewell goes out sighing.
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How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
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O,speak to me no morethese words like daggers enter my ears.(a fancy way of saying SHUT UP!) — William Shakespeare hamlet
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Oh! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves.
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Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.
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How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
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God defend me from that Welsh fairy, Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!
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I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots as a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.
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Great men may jest with saints 'tis wit in them But, in the less foul profanation.
William Shakespeare
The best is yet to come.
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That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in. and the best of me is diligence.
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table.
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