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I heard a bustling rumor like a fray, And the wind blows it from the Capitol.
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
Capitol
Rumor
Blows
Blow
Wind
Heard
Politics
Bustling
Like
Fray
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality.
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Greatness, once fallen out with fortune, must fall out with men too.
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This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, . . . This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
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Death-counterfeiting sleep.
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Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
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What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?
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Look, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east! Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain-tops.
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Be as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee.
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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I have shot mine arrow o'er the house And hurt my brother.
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How long a time lies in one little word?
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If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.
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Men that make Envy and crooked malice nourishment, Dare bite the best.
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I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.
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And she's fair I love.
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To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain If lost, why then a grievous labour won However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
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Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires.
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Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech.
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In time we hate that which we often fear.
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If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
William Shakespeare
