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I'll read enough When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.
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
Enough
Writ
Sins
Indeed
Sin
Reading
Read
Book
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?
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This making of Christians will raise the price of hogs.
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The ides of March are come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar but not gone.
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Enough no more Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
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I have trod a measure, I have flattered a lady, I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy.
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O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love... 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.
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I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano!
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That but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come.
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For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.
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My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life both grow in one Take honor from me, and my life is done.
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Knit your hearts with an unslipping knot.
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O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
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A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
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I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
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By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence For courage mounteth with occasion.
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O sir, you are old nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.
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If love be blind, it best agrees with night
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As good luck would have it.
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Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?
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I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
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