William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Quotes

  • ''The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person,
    videlicet, in a love-cause.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Rosalind, in As You Like It, act 4, sc. 1, l. 94-7. Videlicet means namely. Calculating from the Bible, it was thought that the world was created about 4000 B.C..
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  • ''As true a lover
    As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Silvius, in As You Like It, act 2, sc. 4, l. 26-7. On the absurdity of unrequited love.
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  • ''Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith
    To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
    That souls of animals infuse themselves
    Into the trunks of men.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British poet. The Merchant of Venice (IV, i). . . The Unabridged William Shakespeare, William George Clark and William Aldis Wright, eds. (1989) Running Press.
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  • ''Bear your body more seeming, Audrey.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Touchstone, in As You Like It, act 5, sc. 4, l. 68-9. "Seeming" means seemly, decorously.
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  • ''The dove and very blessed spirit of peace.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Westmoreland, in Henry IV, Part 2, act 4, sc. 1, l. 46. On what an archbishop's vestments symbolize.
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  • ''Woe to that land that's governed by a child.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. 3rd Citizen, in Richard III, act 2, sc. 3, l. 11. Hearing news of the death of King Edward IV; proverbial, from the Bible (Ecclesiastes, 10:16).
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  • ''An evil soul producing holy witness
    Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
    A goodly apple rotten at the heart.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Antonio, in The Merchant of Venice, act 1, sc. 3, l. 99-101. Referring to Shylock.
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  • ''So work the honey-bees,
    Creatures that by a rule in nature teach
    The act of order to a peopled kingdom.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Archbishop of Canterbury, in Henry V, act 1, sc. 2, l. 187-9.
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  • ''Being your slave, what should I do but tend
    Upon the hours and times of your desire?
    I have no precious time at all to spend
    Nor services to do, till you require:
    Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
    Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
    Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
    When you have bid your servant once adieu:
    Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
    Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
    But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
    Save, where you are, how happy you make those;—
    So true a fool is love, that in your will
    Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British poet. Being your slave, what should I do but tend (l. 1-14). . . The Unabridged William Shakespeare, William George Clark and William Aldis Wright, eds. (1989) Running Press.
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  • ''My particular grief
    Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature
    That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
    And it is still itself.''
    William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Brabantio, in Othello, act 1, sc. 3, l. 55-8. Overwhelmed (as if a "flood-gate" were open) by the loss of his daughter, his grief engulfs ("engluts") other feelings.
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Best Poem of William Shakespeare

Fear No More

Fear no more the heat o' the sun;
Nor the furious winter's rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.

Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dread thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy ...

Read the full of Fear No More

Sonnet Cviii

What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case

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