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What thing, in honor, had my father lost, That need to be revived and breathed in me?
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
Children
Needs
Thing
Revived
Breathed
Honor
Father
Lost
Need
More quotes by William Shakespeare
The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.
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There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't
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O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
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Who is it that can tell me who I am?
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To saucy doubts and fears.
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Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
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Quote: What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
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Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep.
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All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
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Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
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I would not wish any companion in the world but you.
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He is winding the watch of his wit by and by it will strike.
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God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts into one.
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These violent delights have violent ends.
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For there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the woman's part.
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Perseverance... keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang quite out of fashion, like a rusty nail in monumental mockery.
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Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
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Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?
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So wise so young, they say, do never live long.
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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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