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I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.

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
Vices
Taint
Gratitude
Babbling
Whose
Ingratitude
Blood
Drunkenness
Lying
Frail
Hate
Memorable
Strong
Vice
Men
Corruption
Inhabits

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Highly fed and lowly taught.
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Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
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For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
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Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enrolled In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own!
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The past is prologue.
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And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.
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Nay, had I pow'r, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.
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The truest poetry is the most feigning.
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Come, swear it, damn thyself, lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves should fear to seize thee therefore be double-damned, swear,--thou art honest.
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Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
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Stars, hide your fires Let not light see my black and deep desires.
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O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet fondly loves!
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O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
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Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
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The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you The malice towards you to forgive you.
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Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.
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You are a tedious fool.
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Give me my sin again.
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Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
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