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Beshrew the heart that makes my heart to groan.
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
Anger
Makes
Heart
Groan
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Things past redress are now with me past care
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Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden.
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See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he feared is chanced.
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You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.
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A little more than kin, and less than kind.
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Take no repulse, whatever she doth say For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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'Tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall.
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Friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
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The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leapt them over.
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Few things loves better Than to abhor himself.
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Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale? Polonius: Very like a whale.
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Say she rail why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
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No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here.
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
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Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
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For there was never yet philosoper That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance.
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No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
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What is the city but the people?
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