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...lest too light winning make the prize light.
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
Make
Tempest
Lest
Prize
Winning
Light
More quotes by William Shakespeare
To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first.
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There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
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O villains, vipers, dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
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Hang him, swaggering rascal!
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Love reasons without reason.
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This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.
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All things that we ordained festival Turn from their office to black funeral-- Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse And all things change them to the contrary.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
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Thou hast her, France let her be thine, for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison.
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Full many a glorious morn I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.
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I must be cruel, only to be kind.
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Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
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The head is not more native to the heart.
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Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast...
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It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
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Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.
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Have patience, and endure
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O Lord that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
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Soft pity enters an iron gate.
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Like the lily That once was mistress of the field and flourished, I'll hang my head and perish.
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