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So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. But they are creul tears. This sorrow's heavenly it strikes where it doth love.

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
Sorrow
Tears
Sweet
Must
Weep
Love
Fatal
Doth
Heavenly
Strikes

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Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
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All surfeit is the father of much fast.
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... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
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'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.
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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
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Absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it the one brings fuel, the other blows it till it burns clear.
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So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.
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Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavor of this present breath may buy That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.
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If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud you again.
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I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
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Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.
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My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.
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A tardiness in nature, Which often leaves the history unspoke, That it intends to do.
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