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

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They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
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Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.
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A very scurvy fellow.
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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
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What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart
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Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
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He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.
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For many men that stumble at the threshold are well foretold that danger lurks within.
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God bless thee and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!
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The sense of death is most in apprehension.
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Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
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Laughing faces do not mean that there is absence of sorrow! But it means that they have the ability to deal with it
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Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.(attributed to)
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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly a flower that dies when it begins to bud a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
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I am afeard there are few die well that die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their argument?
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I would fain die a dry death.
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So far be distant and good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till they sweet life end
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Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
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What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say
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The poorest service is repaid with thanks.
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