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Let me have war, say I it exceeds peace as far as day does night it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.

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
Peace
War
Night
Audible
Doe
Vent
Exceeds
Exceed
Waking
Full

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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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Be advised Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it?
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Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day.
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There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave
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Exit, pursued by a bear.
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It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding Sweet lovers love the spring.
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Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favor, dream as I have done Wake, and find nothing.
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I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill.
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As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, at turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to centre.
William Shakespeare
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Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.
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He that dies this year is quit for the next.
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Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
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Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!
William Shakespeare
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Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.
William Shakespeare
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Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
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I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
William Shakespeare
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How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
William Shakespeare
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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
William Shakespeare
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If love be blind, it best agrees with night
William Shakespeare
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Behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge
William Shakespeare