William Shakespeare Death Quotations

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

The valiant never taste of death but once.

The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.

'Tis better to bear the ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.

He that dies this year is quit for the next.

When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

To take arms against a sea of troubles.

To die: - to sleep: No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.

Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.

Fear no more the heat o' th' sun Nor the furious winters' 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.

The weariest and most loathed worldly life, that age, ache, penury and imprisonment can lay on nature is a paradise, to what we fear of death.

I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.

Ay, but to die and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstrution and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.

Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

To die, to sleep - To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, For in this sleep of death what dreams may come...

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

By medicine life may be prolonged, yet death will seize the doctor too.

Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.

Within the hollow crownThat rounds the mortal temples of a kingKeeps Death his court.

But I will be, A bridegroom in my death, and run into't As to a lover's bed.

But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?

Nothing in his life became him like leaving it.

To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub.

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause, there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life

Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.

This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.

... And death unloads thee.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.

Live how we can, yet die we must.

Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might. Whoever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight.

Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Then love-devouring Death do what he dare.

Unsubstantial Death is amorous.

The sudden hand of Death close up mine eye!

Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.

When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.

Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.

Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.

Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.

Death lies on her like an untimely frost.

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men.

Though Death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.

Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.

Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.

Speak me fair in death.

Why, thou owest god a death.

What is thy sentence then but speechless death.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.

On pain of death, no person be so bold.

O wretched state! o bosom black as death!

What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!

The gloomy shade of death.

Death-counterfeiting sleep.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.

For now they kill me with a living death.

This thought is as a death.

If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.

O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!

Death rock me asleep.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death

Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.

Sweets to the sweet.

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

The weight of this sad time we must obey;Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause; there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life

And nothing can we call our own but deathAnd that small model of the barren earthWhich serves as paste and cover to our bones.For God's sake, let us sit upon the groundAnd tell sad stories of the death of kings.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.