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How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
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
Heal
Patience
Degrees
Poor
Ever
Wound
Wounds
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The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars.
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
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And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.
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The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
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Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
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O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
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Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.
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But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly.
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That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold What hath quenched them hath given me fire.
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The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman knowes himselfe to be a Foole.
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I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster!
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I am that merry wanderer of the night.
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The fear's as bad as falling.
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And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
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The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.
William Shakespeare
