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I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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
Lost
Wherefore
Mirth
Custom
Melancholy
Customs
Habit
Exercise
Late
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Truly the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear.
William Shakespeare
If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
William Shakespeare
I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.
William Shakespeare
My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
William Shakespeare
In maiden meditation, fancy free.
William Shakespeare
Let me not live, after my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff of younger spirits.
William Shakespeare
I would not lose so great an honor As one man more methinks would share with me For the best hope I have.
William Shakespeare
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
William Shakespeare
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
William Shakespeare
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?
William Shakespeare
Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
William Shakespeare
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects treachery?
William Shakespeare
The best is yet to come.
William Shakespeare
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
William Shakespeare
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
William Shakespeare
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
William Shakespeare
Anger's my meat. I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.
William Shakespeare
In springtime, the only pretty ring time Birds sing, hey ding A-ding, a-ding Sweet lovers love the spring—
William Shakespeare
What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
William Shakespeare
Men at sometime are the masters of their fate.
William Shakespeare
