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Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.

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
Woman
Wells
Well
Good
Wench
Wenches
Gear
Gears
Fortune

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The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
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A little more than kin, and less than kind.
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O sir, you are old nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.
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When the sea was calm all ships alike showed mastership in floating.
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Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes Unwhipped of justice.
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They are fairies he that speaks to them shall die. I'll wink and couch no man their works must eye.
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Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
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Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? BEATRICE Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. BENEDICK O, stay but till then! BEATRICE 'Then' is spoken fare you well now... (Much Ado About Nothing)
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Sycorax has grown into a hoop
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What are you doing sister? / Killing swine.
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Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?
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As good luck would have it, comes in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach, and in her invention, and Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket.
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Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, And so am come abroad to see the world.
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.
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There is none of my uncle's marks upon you he taught me how to know a man in love in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
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Faults that are rich are fair.
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Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian- Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong- Would here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art.
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Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
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A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously the very ice of chastity is in them.
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