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Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
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
Born
Sad
Death
Beggar
Nothing
Behold
Jollity
Desert
Trimmed
Sadness
Unhappily
Cry
Restful
Tired
Purest
Faith
Needy
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
William Shakespeare
He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
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A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously the very ice of chastity is in them.
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A flock of blessings light upon thy back
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
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Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.
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Grief hath two tongues and never woman yet Could rule them both without ten women's wit.
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There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond And do a willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity profound conceit As who should say, I am sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
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To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
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The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
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O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper, sprinkle cool patience.
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Men at some time are masters of their fates.
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Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!
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If ever (as that ever may be near) you meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, then shall you know the wounds invisible that love's keen, arrows make.
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Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?
William Shakespeare
This we prescribe, though no physician Deep malice makes too deep incision Forget, forgive conclude and be agreed Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
William Shakespeare
ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave for there must I use thee.
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In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
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Laughing faces do not mean that there is absence of sorrow! But it means that they have the ability to deal with it
William Shakespeare
To be direct and honest is not safe.
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