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As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods they kill us for their sport.
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
Sport
Gloucester
Gods
Cordelia
God
Squash
Kill
Lear
Boys
Insignificance
Sports
Wanton
Religious
Flies
Classic
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It hurts not the tongue to give fair words.
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a wild dedication of yourselves To undiscovered waters, undreamed shores.
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I profess not talking: only this, Let each man do his best.
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What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate I am a gentleman.
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Lawn as white as driven snow Cyprus black as e'er was crow Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
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Muster your wits stand in your own defence.
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We are oft to blame in this, - 'tis too much proved, - that with devotion's visage, and pios action we do sugar o'er the devil himself.
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I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind.
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Love thyself last, cherish those hearts that hate thee Corruption wins not more than honesty.
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To be merry best becomes you for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
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Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
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You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
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Give sorrow words the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
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Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud.
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Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
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When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
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I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
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