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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.
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
Lady
Measure
Dancing
Politic
Mines
Trod
Mine
Flattered
Court
Flattery
Friend
Smooth
Enemy
Dancer
More quotes by William Shakespeare
And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do
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Vanity keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others.
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Ay, is it not a language I speak?
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Covering discretion with a coat of folly.
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Confess yourself to heaven, Repent what's past, avoid what is to come, And do not spread the compost on the weeds To make them ranker.
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More can I bear than you dare execute.
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Such thanks as fits a king's remembrance.
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Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear and from the tents The armorers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.
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A tardiness in nature, Which often leaves the history unspoke, That it intends to do.
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Let not the world see fear and sad distrust govern the motion of a kingly eye.
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Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.
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No place indeed should murder sanctuarize Revenge should have no bounds.
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Who is it that can tell me who I am?
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Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
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Love sees with the heart and not with mind.
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He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
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Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
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Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.
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Oh, injurious love, that respites me a life, whose very comfort is still a dying horror
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Men of few words are the best men. (3.2.41)
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