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Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.
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
Make
Like
Hasten
Waves
Shore
Wave
Towards
Minutes
Ends
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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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God defend me from that Welsh fairy, Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!
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Commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways.
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For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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I am a feather for each wind that blows
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Fight valiantly to-day and yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, for thou art framed of the firm truth of valor.
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Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty for in my youth I never did apply hot and rebellious liquors in my blood and did not, with unbashful forehead, woo the means of weakness and debility: therefore my age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
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O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the Devil!
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I'll have no husband, if you be not he.
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The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night.
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What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.
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The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
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The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.
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I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure it is a tragedy.
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The people are the city.
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There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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Honor, riches, marriage-blessing Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you!
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I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
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Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body.
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