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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.
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
Sea
Neptune
Hands
Clean
Hyperbole
Play
Ocean
Constancy
Great
Green
Pluck
Blood
Seas
Hand
Wash
Red
Rather
Guilt
Multitudinous
Making
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.
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Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affection, Figures pedantical--these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.
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That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.
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Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canter dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
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Verily, I swear, it is better to be lowly born, and range with humble livers in content, than to be perked up in a glistering grief, and wear a golden sorrow.
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Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent.
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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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Know more than other. Work more than other. Expect less than other
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Dreams, indeed, are ambition for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. And I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.
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O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.
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To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans coy looks, with heart-sore sighs one fading moment's mirth
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
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Silence is the perfect herald of joy.
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Thou art all the comfort, The Gods will diet me with.
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Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means!
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Can I go forward when my heart is here?
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I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely.
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