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A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.
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
Impudent
Effeminate
Loath
Grown
Woman
Women
Men
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
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Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
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I thank you all and here dismiss you all, and to the love and favor of my country commit myself, my person, and the cause.
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Confess yourself to heaven, Repent what's past, avoid what is to come, And do not spread the compost on the weeds To make them ranker.
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Heaven is above all yet there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.
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Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
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Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
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The last taste of sweets is sweetest last.
William Shakespeare
The instances that second marriage move Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
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Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.
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When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
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How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.
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In thy face I see the map of honour, truth and loyalty.
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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, From earth to heaven.
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He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument.
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Women may fail when there is no strength in man
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Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast.
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
William Shakespeare
