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I will praise any man that will praise me.

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
Flattery
Praise
Men

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Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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Maids want nothing but husbands, and when they have them, they want everything.
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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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My father names me Autolycus, who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.
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I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
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Good name in man and woman is the immediate jewel of their souls.
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Bosom upon my counsel You'll find it wholesome.
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I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth.
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We have seen better days.
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Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.
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Pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision.
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They that have voice of lions and act of hares,--are they not monsters?
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O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school And though she be but little, she is fierce.
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
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An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England.
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My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!
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Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.
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Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth.
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A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep, And I could laugh I am light and heavy: Welcome.
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Constant you are, But yet a woman and for secrecy, No lady closer for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.
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