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We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.
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
Butterflies
Butterfly
Laugh
Laughing
Gilded
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Travelers must be content.
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You told a lie, an odious damned lie Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
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My heart is ever at your service.
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Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?
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The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. Pity is the virtue of the law, and none but tyrants use it cruelly.
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What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
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The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth, And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out.
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O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
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Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
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For this relief, much thanks
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I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.
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Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
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The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.
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Heaven is above all yet there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.
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But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens!
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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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Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.
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Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale? Polonius: Very like a whale.
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How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
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