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One sin another doth provoke.
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
Provoke
Doth
Provoking
Sin
Another
More quotes by William Shakespeare
It was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.
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Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own
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I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
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An envious fever of pale and bloodless emulation.
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My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
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All is well ended, if the suit be won.
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Abandon all remorse On horror's head horrors accumulate.
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A king of infinite space
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I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.
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Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
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A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.
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A man should be what he seems.
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Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables.
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The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
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Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
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To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans coy looks, with heart-sore sighs one fading moment's mirth
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Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.
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That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
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Past and to come, seems best things present, worse.
William Shakespeare
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
William Shakespeare
