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for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)
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
Hold
Bows
Huge
Firm
Earth
John
Come
King
Constance
Great
Grief
Throne
Kings
Sorrows
Sorrow
Thrones
Scene
Supporter
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To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
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Men have marble, women waxen, minds.
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Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means!
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Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.
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We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.
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The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.
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The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
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In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.
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Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
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The heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east.
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Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
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That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
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Few things loves better Than to abhor himself.
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O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
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O hell! to choose love with another's eye.
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And Caesar shall go forth.
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
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Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come
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Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
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