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Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

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
Lasts
Teeth
Last
Mere
Eye
Scene
History
Taste
Ends
Second
Eventful
Everything
Strange
Sans
Stage
Childishness
Eyes
Oblivion

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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
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Thus did I keep my person fresh and new, My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne'er seen but wondered at, and so my state, Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast.
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Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.
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A book? O, rare one, Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers.
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Graze on my lips and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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Would I were in an alehouse in London.
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I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much How to forget that learning but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service.
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Beauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
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He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, him not know t, and he's not robbed at all.
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Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means!
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
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There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
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Mine honor is my life, both grow in one. Take honor from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try In that I live, and for that I will die.
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What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
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Full fathom five thy father lies
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In persons grafted in a serious trust, Negligence is a crime.
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The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
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Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
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I cannot do it without comp[u]ters.
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