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Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think perchance they'll sell if not, The lustre of the better yet to show Shall show the better.
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
Better
Lustre
Think
Perchance
Thinking
Merchants
Like
Sell
Sells
Shall
Show
Foulest
Shows
Wares
More quotes by William Shakespeare
. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.
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Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.
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I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me.
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. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.
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Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
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A light wife doth make a heavy husband.
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Love is merely a madness.
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Never shame to hear what you have nobly done
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Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
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One pain is lessened by another's anguish.
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He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.
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Who riseth from a feast With that keen appetite that he sits down?
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These signs have marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men.
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In love the heavens themselves do guide the state Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
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Why, all delights are vain, but that most vain Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book, To seek the light of truth, which truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.
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A table-full of welcome!
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Upon thy cheek I lay this zealous kiss, as seal to the indenture of my love.
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Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
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Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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Why should honor outlive honestly? Orthello
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