Quote

Where shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly 's done, when the battle 's lost and won

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
Play
Witch
Done
Lightning
Life
Rain
Battle
Meet
Shall
Lost
Three
Thunder

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The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity.
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For by his face straight shall you know his heart.
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Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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He that is thy friend indeed, he will help you in your need.
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Adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave.
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If wishes would prevail with me, my purpose should not fail with me.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth, And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out.
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Time does not have the same appeal for every one
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When the age is in, the wit is out
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If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.
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Honor, riches, marriage-blessing Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you!
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Rude am I in my speech, And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace.
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A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
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Hope is a lover's staff walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
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What else may hap, to time I will commit.
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O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?
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I say there is no darkness but ignorance.
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