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Be collected. No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart There's no harm done.
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
Comfort
Wonder
Piteous
Tell
Collected
Done
Tempest
Heart
Amazement
Pity
Harm
More quotes by William Shakespeare
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
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true apothecary thy drugs art quick
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Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others.
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Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.
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The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible.
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Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight. Mercutio: And so did I. Romeo: Well, what was yours? Mercutio: That dreamers often lie. Romeo: In bed asleep while they do dream things true.
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Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
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What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows?
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In delay there lies no plenty.
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Love adds a precious seeing to the eye.
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No sooner met but they looked no sooner looked but they loved no sooner loved but they sighed no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.
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Nature's tears are reason's merriment.
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By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.
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The present eye praises the present object.
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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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I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
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Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman's nay doth stand for naught?
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They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
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The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
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Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
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