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Despair and die. The ghosts
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
Ghosts
Ghost
Despair
Dies
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If love be blind, it best agrees with night
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
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Like madness, is the glory of this life.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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It is a good divine that follows his own instructions.
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Well, honor is the subject of my story.
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The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
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He is the most wretched of men who has never felt adversity.
William Shakespeare
. . . nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.
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A man I am cross'd with adversity.
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Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
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Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
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Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not, I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips: We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns.
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The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
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Here's flowers for you Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
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Where I could not be honest, I never yet was valiant.
William Shakespeare
By that sin fell the angels.
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Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do till you require.
William Shakespeare
That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack, when it begins to rain, And leave thee in a storm.
William Shakespeare
You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live.
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