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With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.

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
Come
Merriment
Mirth
Wrinkles
Birthday
Laughter
Joy
Age
Happiness

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To some kind of men their graces serve them but as enemies.
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For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
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Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. A man I am, crossed with adversity My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have.
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
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I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
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I do desire we may be better strangers.
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The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.
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A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear.
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That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
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To sue to live, I find I seek to die And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
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we are the lords of all eternity
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Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.
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That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches one that would circumvent God, might it not?
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Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness.
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How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
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Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that (by chance) I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.
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I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
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All difficulties are easy when they are known.
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Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
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All furnished, all in arms All plum'd like estridges that with the wind Bated like eagles having lately bathed Glittering in golden coats like images As full of spirit as the month of May And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
William Shakespeare