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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
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
Eats
Glass
Glasses
Pride
Proud
Chronicle
Chronicles
Trumpet
Trumpets
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All impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy.
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My heart is turned to stone I strike it, and it hurts my hand.
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Every good servant does not all commands.
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If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me.
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Every true man's apparel fits your thief.
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Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud.
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I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
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No villainous bounty yet hath passed my heart Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
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O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, to drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.
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By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
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I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
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That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches one that would circumvent God, might it not?
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks
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You have too much respect upon the world They lose it that do buy it with much care
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War is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife.
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The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself
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Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.
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Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
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