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Assure thee, if I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it to the last article. --Othello, Act III, Scene iii
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
Article
Articles
Perform
Thee
Friendship
Scene
Othello
Lasts
Vow
Last
Assure
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Experience teacheth us That resolution 's a sole help at need: And this, my lord, our honour teacheth us, That we be bold in every enterprise: Then since there is no way, but fight or die, Be resolute, my lord, for victory.
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The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
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I cannot, nor I will not hold me still My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
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Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
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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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Truth hath a quiet breast.
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Good with out evil is like light with out darkness which in turn is like righteousness whith out hope.
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For to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
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Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad.
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And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.
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You, and your lady, Take from my heart all thankfulness!
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Wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.
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Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue.
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This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedler and retails his wares.
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The due of honor in no point omit.
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My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
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I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
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Time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arm outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer.
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Time travels at different speeds for different people. I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for.
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The heart hath treble wrong When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
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