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I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
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
Thinking
Swan
Swans
Crow
Thee
Make
Think
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I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.
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No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger.
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O, let me kiss that hand! KING LEAR: Let me wipe it first it smells of mortality.
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To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first.
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What light through yonder window breaks?
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I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.
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...Vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
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I despised my arrival on this earth and I despise my departure it is a tragedy.
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How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
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The worm is not to be trusted.
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My stars shine darkly over me
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But whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.
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Death-counterfeiting sleep.
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No visor does become black villainy so well as soft and tender flattery.
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When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
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O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
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What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds.
William Shakespeare
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
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These earthly godfathers of Heaven's lights, that give a name to every fixed star, have no more profit of their shining nights than those that walk and know not what they are.
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Women are as roses, whose fair flower, being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.
William Shakespeare
