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Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

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
Words
Matter
Mean
Polonius
Hamlet
Lord
Read

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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
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Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle I am no traitor's uncle, and that word grace In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
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Nature's tears are reason's merriment.
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For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.
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For the poor wren (The most diminutive of birds) will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
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Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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I am falser than vows made in wine.
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The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
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He hath disgrac'd me and hind'red me half a million laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew.
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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly a flower that dies when it begins to bud a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
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Lovers ever run before the clock
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Doubting things go ill often hurts more Than to be sure they do for certainties Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, The remedy then born.
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Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.
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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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Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.
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'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
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Nature does require her times of preservation.
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He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.
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