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O time, thou must untangle this, not I. It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.
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
Hard
Must
Time
Untangle
Untie
Knot
Knots
Thou
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How many cowards whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who inward searched, have livers white as milk!
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Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
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For some must watch, while some must sleep So runs the world away
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Those, that with haste will make a mighty fire, Begin it with weak straws.
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Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
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Fishes live in the sea, as men do a-land the great ones eat up the little ones.
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As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.
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All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.
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Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
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No stony bulwark can resist the love, and love dares what anyone can love.
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For grief is crowned with consolation.
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How poor are they that have have not patients.
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in black ink my love may still shine bright.
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What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
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On your eyelids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep As is the difference betwixt day and night The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of--boils and plagues Plaster you o'er that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen, and one infect another Against the wind a mile!
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It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou
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There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
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Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
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Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
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