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Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
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
Stars
Fates
Men
Julius
Time
Sonnet
Life
Fault
Faults
Dear
Underlings
Fate
Brutus
Masters
Cassius
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Knit your hearts with an unslipping knot.
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for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
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The undeserver may sleep when the man of action is called on.
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Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
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The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand.
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Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
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The fear's as bad as falling.
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Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.
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Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.
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What is the city but the people?
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You abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.
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Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.
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Be wary then best safety lies in fear.
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Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavor of this present breath may buy That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.
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That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.
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Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.
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Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England fairly met!
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Do all men kill the things they do not love ............ The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest It blesseth him that gives and him that takes
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The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.
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True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
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