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And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Deadly
Torment
Dies
Rather
Living
Death
Silvia
Self
Banishment
Banish
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I have pursued her, as love hath pursued me
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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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One sees more devils than vast hell can hold
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A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
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The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
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But when the fox hath once got in his nose, He'll soon find means to make the body follow.
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JAQUES: Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO: Yes, just. JAQUES: I do not like her name. ORLANDO: There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.
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A man should be what he seems.
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
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The Dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service Are they inform'd of this?
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I do know of these That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.
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My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.
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But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy, Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great: Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose but Fortune, O!
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We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh few are angels.
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Journeys end in lovers meeting.
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That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away.
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Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
William Shakespeare
O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first it smells of mortality.
William Shakespeare
O heaven! that one might read the book of fate, and see the revolution of the times.
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I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.
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