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Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.
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
Horses
Receiving
Horse
Proud
Talk
Earth
Think
Hoofs
Thinking
Printing
More quotes by William Shakespeare
My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
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Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
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The cheek Is apter than the tongue to tell an errand.
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That is not the best sermon which makes the hearers go away talking to one another and praising the speaker, but which makes them go away thoughtful and serious, and hastening to be alone.
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How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me.
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Bosom upon my counsel You'll find it wholesome.
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A good man's fortune may grow out at heels.
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There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.
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All impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy.
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To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!
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Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.
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My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things.
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.
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The native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought and enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.
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Know my name is lost, By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope.
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Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*
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