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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
Needs
Thing
Revived
Breathed
Honor
Father
Lost
Need
Children
More quotes by William Shakespeare
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
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From this time forth My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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Ships are but boards, sailors but men.
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It is a good divine that follows his own instructions.
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Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.
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What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To wash it white as snow?
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A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?
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Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
William Shakespeare
For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
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That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough no more: 'Tis not so sweet as it was before.
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Celebrity is never more admired than by the negligent.
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Fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.
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How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
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Their understanding Begins to swell and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shores That now lie foul and muddy.
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wronged, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts.
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Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
William Shakespeare
Some say that ever 'gainst the season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad The nights are wholesome then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor wi
William Shakespeare
You kiss by th' book.
William Shakespeare
