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Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
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
Shall
Show
Shows
Sayings
Every
Tongues
Hang
Civil
Tongue
Tree
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A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
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A knot you are of damned bloodsuckers.
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I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
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Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
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When he is best, he is a little worse than a man and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.
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Past all shame, so past all truth.
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You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
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Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules, but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was a coward on instinct.
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Every good servant does not all commands.
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I kissed thee ere I killed thee. No way but this, Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
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Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
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Literature is a comprehensive essence of the intellectual life of a nation.
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Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.
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Contention, like a horse, Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him.
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The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.
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Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.
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Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
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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.
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Who has a book of all that monarchs do, He's more secure to keep it shut than shown For vice repeated is like the wand'ring wind, Blows dust in others' eye, to spread itself And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear To stop the air would hurt them.
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The weariest and most loathed worldly life, that age, ache, penury and imprisonment can lay on nature is a paradise, to what we fear of death.
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