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I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.
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
Upon
Book
Thing
Supposed
Worst
Face
Faces
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What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart
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My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind So flew'd, so sanded their heads are hung with ears that sweep away the morning dew.
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I have touched the highest point of all my greatness.
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The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leapt them over.
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So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.
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Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.
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I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
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My salad days, When I was green in judgment.
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I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.
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Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace. Leave gormandizing.
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Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.
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It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance
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I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.
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But love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offense, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.
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Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm.
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Poor and content, is rich and rich enough But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
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Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
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I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her. If she be a traitor, Why, so am I. We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.
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thou art the best o' the cut-throats
William Shakespeare
