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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
Mirth
Custom
Melancholy
Customs
Habit
Exercise
Late
Lost
Wherefore
More quotes by William Shakespeare
A hit, a very palpable hit.
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.
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You cannot call it love, for at your age the heyday in the blood is tame
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The people are the city.
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One pain is lessened by another's anguish.
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So. Lie there, my art.
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Ready to go but never to return.
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Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!
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Thou mak'st me merry: I am full of pleasure let us be jocund
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Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
William Shakespeare
Go, write it in a martial hand be curst and brief it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss and as many lies as will lie in thy shee.
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Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
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The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
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Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!
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Heaven - the treasury of everlasting life.
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Fight valiantly to-day and yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, for thou art framed of the firm truth of valor.
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Make use of time, let not advantage slip.
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Men at some time are masters of their fates.
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Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
William Shakespeare
Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
William Shakespeare
