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Sweets to the sweet.

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
Sweets
Sweet
Death

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I care not, a man can die but once we owe God and death.
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But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly.
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I am falser than vows made in wine.
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Good old grandsire ... we shall be joyful of thy company.
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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
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Slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.
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the fire seven times tried this seven times tried that judgement is that did never choose amiss some there be that shadows kiss such have but a shadows bliss, there be fool alive, i wis silverd o'er, and so was this Take what wife you will to bed I will ever be your head. So be gone you are sped.
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For precious friends hid in death's dateless night.
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Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought
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Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit and for lovers, lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
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Antonio: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Sebastian: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.
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For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.
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But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
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O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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If I shall be condemned Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law.
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Art made tongue-tied by authority.
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There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
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Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? - Lady Macbeth
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QUINCE Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman I have a beard coming.
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