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So may I, blind fortune leading me, Miss that which one unworthier may attain, And die with grieving.
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
Dies
Grieving
May
Attain
Leading
Miss
Fortune
Blind
Missing
Risk
Maxims
More quotes by William Shakespeare
He that dies pays all debts.
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Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops. Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.
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I prithee gentle friend, Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passions, sway In this uncivil and unjust extent Against thy peace.
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Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
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Hang him, swaggering rascal!
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Alas, I am a woman friendless, hopeless!
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He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
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There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.
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Lord, what fools these mortals be!
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As many arrows, loosed several ways, come to one mark...so many a thousand actions, once afoot, end in one purpose.
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Poor and content is rich, and rich enough.
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Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.
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For mine own part, it was Greek to me.
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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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I'll make death love me for I will contend Even with his pestilent scythe.
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Receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day.
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O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
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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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He's a soldier and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.
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How soar sweet music is, when time is broke, and no proportion kept!
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