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The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.
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
Thing
Breaking
Make
Round
World
Civil
Rounds
Dens
Citizens
Shook
Streets
Crack
Greater
Lions
Great
Cracks
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Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
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Do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation.
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Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
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Beware the ides of March.
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For there was never yet philosoper That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance.
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The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness.
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All's well if all ends well.
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You have too much respect upon the world They lose it that do buy it with much care
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I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.
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The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
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What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?
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I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
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Lechery, lechery still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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And my poor fool is hanged! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never! Pray you, undo this button.
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After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.
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Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition: Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away.
William Shakespeare
you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now seems best.
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But love is blind and lovers cannot see
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Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
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Conscience is a thousand swords.
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