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Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
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
Herald
Silence
Joy
Perfect
More quotes by William Shakespeare
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind
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Be not afraid of greatness.
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. . . nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.
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I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world.
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Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy. But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell ... Or say with princes if it shall go well.
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No sooner met but they looked no sooner looked but they loved no sooner loved but they sighed no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.
William Shakespeare
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied.
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Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
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Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?
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Ay beauty's princely majesty is such, Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.
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Conscience is a thousand swords.
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What's his offense? Groping for trout in a peculiar river.
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What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
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Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use
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Graze on my lips and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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He kills her in her own humor.
William Shakespeare
Wise men never sit and wail their loss, but cheerily seek how to redress their harms.
William Shakespeare
This feather stirs she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
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Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.
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O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!
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