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Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
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
Sides
Art
Roasted
Like
Damned
Eggs
Ill
Thou
Truly
Side
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If he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betrayed with trees And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils, and men with flatterers
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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It is a good divine that follows his own instructions.
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Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.
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We have some salt of our youth in us.
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There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
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People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass.
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Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.
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Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.
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Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
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Put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
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Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
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We bring forth weeds when our quick minds lie still.
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Value dwells not in particular will It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer.
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I have been long a sleeper but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
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Do all men kill the things they do not love?
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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engend'red in the eyes, With gazing fed, and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies.
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Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
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