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For conspiracy, I know not how it tastes, though it be dished For me to try how.
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
Conspiracy
Taste
Politics
Though
Trying
Tastes
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Thou call'st me dog before thou hadst a cause, But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
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The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
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Frailty, thy name is woman!
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My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night-- Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about The other four in wondrous motion.
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Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
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Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
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Come give us a taste of your quality.
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Come, Lady, die to live.
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An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England.
William Shakespeare
A virtuous and a Christianlike conclusion-- To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
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The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
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Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.
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Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy: sayest thou that house is dark?
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Thanks to men Of noble minds, is honorable meed.
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The truest poetry is the most feigning.
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Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
William Shakespeare
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
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My love admits no qualifying dross
William Shakespeare
By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
William Shakespeare
