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Out of her favour, where I am in 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
Juliet
Favour
Love
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we are the lords of all eternity
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Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.
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Good fortune then! To make me blest or cursed'st among men.
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You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you And here remain with your uncertainty!
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Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, But to procrastinate his liveless end.
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The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody: Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.
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A politician... one that would circumvent God.
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Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.
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And sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company.
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The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.
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Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
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To pore upon a book, to seek the light of truth.
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O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.
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Love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. *Love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.*
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Thou art all the comfort, The Gods will diet me with.
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When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men for thus sings he, Cuckoo Cuckoo, cuckoo O, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.
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I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
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O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !
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I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!
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Muster your wits stand in your own defence.
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