William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Quotes

  • ''So to your pleasures,
    I am for other than for dancing measures.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Jaques, in As You Like It, act 5, sc. 4, l. 92-3. Separating himself from the general happy ending, Jaques returns to the cave in the forest.
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  • ''They surfeited with honey and began
    To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
    More than a little is by much too much.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. King Henry, in Henry IV, Part 1, act 3, sc. 2, l. 71-3. How the people became tired of seeing Richard II.
  • ''Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. King Henry, in Henry VI, Part 2, act 3, sc. 3, l. 31. On the tormented dying of Cardinal Beaufort.
  • ''Villain, thou know'st nor law of God nor man;
    No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Lady Anne, in Richard III, act 1, sc. 2, l. 71. To Richard, displaying the corpse of Henry VI, slain by him; "nor law" means neither law.
  • ''Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
    To laughter and contempt, that she may feel
    How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
    To have a thankless child!''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Lear, in King Lear, act 1, sc. 4, l. 286-9. Cursing his daughter Goneril.
  • ''One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
    One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Lysander, in A Midsummer Night's Dream, act 2, sc. 2, l. 41-2. Lysander trying to persuade Hermia to sleep by him.
  • ''My more-having would be as a sauce
    To make me hunger more.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Malcolm, in Macbeth, act 4, sc. 3, l. 81-2.
  • ''My love is as a fever, longing still
    For that which longer nurseth the disease;
    Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
    The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
    My reason, the physician to my love,
    Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
    Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,
    Desire his death, which physic did except.
    Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
    And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
    My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
    At random from the truth vainly express'd;
    For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
    Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British poet. My love is as a fever, longing still (l. 1-14). . . The Unabridged William Shakespeare, William George Clark and William Aldis Wright, eds. (1989) Running Press.
  • ''I do desire we may be better strangers.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Orlando, in As You Like It, act 3, sc. 2, l. 253 (1623). Speaking to Jaques.
  • ''These lovers cry, O ho they die!
    Yet that which seems the wound to kill
    Doth turn O ho! to ha, ha, he!
    So dying love lives still.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Pandarus, in Troilus and Cressida, act 3, sc. 1, l. 121-4. Pandarus's song is about sexual consummation.

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Best Poem of William Shakespeare

All The World's A Stage

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in ...

Read the full of All The World's A Stage

Sonnet Li

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;

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