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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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
Ends
Delights
Like
Consume
Kiss
Kissing
Violent
Delight
Fire
Juliet
Dies
Powder
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Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
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Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale? Polonius: Very like a whale.
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When rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will
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GLOUCESTER: I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night: I thank my God for my humility.
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I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.
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What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
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Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind.
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In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.
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I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, And that's a feeling disputation.
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Past all shame, so past all truth.
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If you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
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Much rain wears the marble.
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Ay, but to die and go we know not where To lie in cold obstrution and to rot This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world.
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When he is best, he is a little worse than a man and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.
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The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.
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God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts into one.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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Some men there are love not a gaping pig, some that are mad if they behold a cat, and others when the bagpipe sings I the nose cannot contain their urine.
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No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger.
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My wits begin to turn.
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