Quote

This we prescribe, though no physician Deep malice makes too deep incision Forget, forgive conclude and be agreed Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.

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
Forgiving
Bleed
Doctors
Conclude
Deep
Physician
Months
Agreed
Though
Malice
Physicians
Forget
Month
Makes
Forgive
Prescribe

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The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue!
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The miserable have no other medicine But only hope.
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Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.
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Can it be chat modesty may more betray Our sense than woman's lightness?
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Thou lump of foul deformity!
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.
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You have witchcraft in your lips, there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs.
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Till all grace be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.
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Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.
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Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.
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Let each man do his best.
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Lechery, lechery still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.
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So full of shapes is fancy That it alone is high fantastical.
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And by that destiny to perform an act Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come In yours and my discharge.
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How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
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Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on his back.
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