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A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep, And I could laugh I am light and heavy: Welcome.
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
Weep
Welcome
Heavy
Laugh
Hundred
Laughing
Thousand
Light
Welcomes
More quotes by William Shakespeare
How my achievements mock me!
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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.
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the time of life is short To spend that shortness basely were too long.
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What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?
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Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
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Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things . . . nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.
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I’ll look to like, if looking liking move But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
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In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
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The rain, it raineth every day.
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For what I will, I will, and there an end.
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O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven
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Gold were as good as twenty orators.
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O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, 1710. That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
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What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.
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Presume not that I am the thing I was.
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A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.
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Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end.
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While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.
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T'is true: there's magic in the web of it.
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