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Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.

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
Thus

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Bow, stubborn knees, and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. All many be well.
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Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight. Mercutio: And so did I. Romeo: Well, what was yours? Mercutio: That dreamers often lie. Romeo: In bed asleep while they do dream things true.
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Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
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I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.
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I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good Friends
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Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.
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Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But bad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
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In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
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Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
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You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
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Never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it.
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Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign lands.
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Sweet are the uses of adversity
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Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
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No matter where of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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By Heaven, I love thee better than myself
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A turn or two I'll walk To still my beating mind.
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The course of true love never did run smooth.
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