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When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air the earth sings when he touches it the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

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
Earth
Sings
Trots
Horns
Hoof
Touches
Basest
Pipe
Equestrian
Soar
Hermes
Musical
Hawk
Horse
Hawks
Air
Horn

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He that dies this year is quit for the next.
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Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty Calls virtue hypocrite takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths.
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Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but ay, And that bare vowel ay shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. I am not I,if there be such an ay, Or those eyes shut,that make thee answer ay: If he be slain say ay,or if not,no: Brief sounds,determine of my weal or woe.
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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By-and-by is easily said.
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They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.
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Some falls the means are happier to rise.
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I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.
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The seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest.
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More fools know Jack Fool than Jack Fool knows.
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But love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offense, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.
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O you beast! I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
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No sooner met but they looked no sooner looked but they loved no sooner loved but they sighed no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.
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Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
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The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love.
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Stars, hide your fires Let not light see my black and deep desires.
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Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
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