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They that touch pitch will be defiled.
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
Defiled
Pitch
Touch
More quotes by William Shakespeare
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
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Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.
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I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
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Divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth.
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I have not slept one wink.
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He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
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Love for thy love , and hand for hand I give.
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What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief.
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So. Lie there, my art.
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To go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes
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Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.
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We must not stint Our necessary actions in the fear To cope malicious censurers, which ever, As rav'nous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimmed, but benefit no further Than vainly longing.
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In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
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Supposition all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes For treason is but trusted like the fox, Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
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Cowards die many times before their deaths the valiant never taste of death but once.
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My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax no levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.
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I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
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Unless the old adage must be verified, That beggars mounted, run their horse to death.
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We cannot fight for love, as men may do we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo
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Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen Neither in inward worth nor outward fair Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
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