Who Was Shakespeare Quotes
But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
One can forgive Shakespeare anything, except one's own bad lines.
I no longer believe that William Shakespeare the actor from Stratford was the author of the works that have been ascribed to him.
I am haunted by the ghost of my father, I think that should allow me to quote Hamlet as much as I please.
Death and burial were a public spectacle. Shakespeare may have seen for himself the gravediggers at St Ann's, Soho, playing skittles with skulls and bones.
Nobody with any real sense of humor *can* write a love story. . . . Shakespeare is the exception that proves the rule. (90-91)
To be, or not to be: what a question!
Shakespeare had it right all along: Love will kill you in the end.
I have lived one step away from losing my mind for years. I am quick and accurate in spotting unstable streaks in others.
A comedy isn’t about being funny...a comedy is about characters who dare to know that they may choose a happy ending after all.
I think reading Shakespeare's plays when I was young was extremely important. He had the ability to make utter strangers come alive.
Shakespeare's plays often turn on the idea of fate, as much drama does. What makes them so tragic is the gap between what his characters might like to accomplish and what fate provides them.
It's an intuitive exercise to do a Shakespeare play and to go through a Shakespeare play.
In Shakespeare's plays, the mourner hastening to bury his friend is all the time colliding with the reveller hastening to his wine.
A brilliant treatment of the history of Purgatory in England and its survivals and echoes throughout Shakespeare's plays, above all Hamlet.
Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth.
I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part.
I’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two and wear my dagger with the braver grace
What sad, short lives humans live! Each life a short pamphlet written by an idiot! Tut-tut, and all that.
How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, Reason none, If what parts, can so remain.
If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'this poet lies! Such heaven never touched earthly faces
Life is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
For thy sweet love remembr'd such wealth bringsThat then, I scorn to change my state with kings.
And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, —I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
All causes shall give way: I am in bloodStepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.
These are the ushers of Martius: before himHe carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears.Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie, Which being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.
The Weird Sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go, about, about, Thrice to thine, thrice to mine, And thrice again to make up nine.Peace, the charm's wound up.
