Quotes & Sayings About Mortality Shakespeare

O, let me kiss that hand!
KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. — William Shakespeare

Golden lads and girls all must, like chimmney-sweepers, come to dust. — William Shakespeare

Every subject's duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore, should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that escapes, it were no sin to think that, making God so free an offer, He let him outlive the day to see His greatness and to teach others how they should prepare. — William Shakespeare

The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures. Lady Macbeth — William Shakespeare

No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure 'scape; back- wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? — William Shakespeare

There's nothing serious in mortality;
All is but toys; renown, and grace, is dead;
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of. — William Shakespeare

Do not speak like a death's-head, do not bid me remember mine end. — William Shakespeare

Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how
many of my old acquaintance are dead! — William Shakespeare

Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall
die. — William Shakespeare

The true use of Shakespeare or of Cervantes, of Homer or of Dante, of Chaucer or of Rabelais, is to augment one's own growing inner self. Reading deeply in the Canon will not make one a better or a worse person, a more useful or more harmful citizen. The mind's dialogue with itself is not primarily a social reality. All that the Western Canon can bring one is the proper use of one's own solitude, that solitude whose final form is one's confrontation with one's own mortality. W — Harold Bloom

Retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave. — William Shakespeare

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But bad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower? — William Shakespeare