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Retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave.
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
Every
Retiring
Grave
Graves
Third
Thirds
Shall
Milan
Age
Retire
Thought
Mortality
More quotes by William Shakespeare
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the time of life is short To spend that shortness basely were too long.
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If thou dost love, proclaim it faithfully.
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Fortune is merry, And in this mood will give us anything.
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You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
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My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speaks mournfully, Trail your steel spikes. Though in this city he Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.
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Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,- One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never.
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Passion lends them power, time means to meet, tempering extremities with extremes sweet.
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Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth, And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out.
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You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
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'Tis the soldier's life to have their balmy slumbers waked with strife.
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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
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One sees more devils than vast hell can hold
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Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
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But fish not with this melancholy bait For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
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We cannot all be masters.
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The one I love is the son of the one I hate! -Juliet p. 75
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I stand for judgment: answer: shall I have it?
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Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET Into my grave.
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