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Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
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
Ingredients
Cups
Devil
Every
Inordinate
Ingredient
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
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There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered.
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If thou remeber'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not lov'd
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How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
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Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
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More of your conversation would infect my brain.
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How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
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My love is deep the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
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That island of England breeds very valiant creatures their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
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I love you more than word can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty
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Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
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When the age is in, the wit is out
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The king is but a man, as I am the violet smells to him as it doth to me the element shows to him as it doth to me all his senses have but human conditions his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing.
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What soilders whey-face? The English for so please you. Take thy face hence.
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Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.
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Passion makes the will lord of the reason.
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True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
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Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
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A ministering angel shall my sister be.
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If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.
William Shakespeare