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Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?
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
Morning
Face
Faces
Thought
Give
Giving
Long
Doth
Sight
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He kills her in her own humor.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
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Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
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Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.
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The villany you teach me I shall execute and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.
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An angel or, if not, An earthly paragon.
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Wishers were ever fools.
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O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping.
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Here's flowers for you Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
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I would with such perfection govern, sir, T'excel the golden age.
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Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
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It comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him.
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Let's all cry peace, freedom, and liberty!
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He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
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To you your father should be as a god.
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If I shall be condemned Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law.
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Truth needs no color beauty, no pencil.
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They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them
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Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
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