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I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting
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
Children
Rest
Wronging
Would
Sleep
Wenches
Child
Sixteen
Getting
Adolescence
Age
Stealing
Fighting
Twenty
Three
Twenties
Nothing
Youth
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Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
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So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend, or be rid on't.
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However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
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Your praises will become your wages.
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It will have blood, they say blood will have blood.
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Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- its everything except what it is! (Act 1, scene 1)
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Happy thou art not for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get and what thou hast, forgettest.
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If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.
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Haste is needful in a desperate case.
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I have sounded the very base-string of humility.
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Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
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Our praises are our wages.
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Let fancy still in my sense in Lethe steep If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
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On pain of death, no person be so bold.
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Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath.
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There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased, The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
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All the world's a stage.
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God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
William Shakespeare
Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
William Shakespeare
Hang him, swaggering rascal!
William Shakespeare
