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What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
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
Early
Sweet
Tongue
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The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.
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You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.
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Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
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The prize of all too precious you.
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Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue.
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And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.
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Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this for it will come to pass That every braggart will be found an ass.
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Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
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Cry havoc! and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
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Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, more than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
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Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil.
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Swift as shadow, short as any dream
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... by indirections find directions out.
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I would that I were low laid in my grave. I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
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I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano A stage where every man must play a part, And mine is a sad one.
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Strong reasons make strong actions.
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Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately long love doth so Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise.
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Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
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