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The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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
Would
Crosses
Life
Despair
Fate
Ensue
Youth
Perils
Progress
Viewing
Dies
Happiest
Past
Peril
Book
Shut
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.
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The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
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For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
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Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious Is to be frightened out of fear.
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Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.
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The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?
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We are ready to try our fortunes to the last man.
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Let him smell his way to Dover!
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What's the news? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest, Then is doomsday near.
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Are there no stones in heaven But what serves for thunder?
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What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
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Women being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the walls.
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Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.
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Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
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For death remembered should be like a mirror, Who tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.
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Hardness ever of hardness is mother.
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wert thou as far As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise.
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