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This day's black fate on more days doth depend This but begins the woe, others must end.

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
Must
Depend
Begins
Fate
Depends
Days
Black
Juliet
Others
Woe
Ends
Doth

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Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
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Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale? Polonius: Very like a whale.
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Scorn, at first, makes after-love the more.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
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Experience teacheth that resolution is a sole help in need.
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But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices.
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In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
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Let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
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It may do good pride hath no other glass To show itself but pride, for supple knees Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
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Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
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Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
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Villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that sing my heart Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas.
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Then to Silvia let us sing that Silvia is excelling. She excels each mortal thing upon the dull earth dwelling.
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No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
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Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.
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Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.
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Time's glory is to command contending kings, To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light.
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Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
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Heaven give you many, many merry days.
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