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And what’s he then that says I play the villain?

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
Villain
Says
Play

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So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.
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Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
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a girl takes too much time to love and a few seconds to hate. but a boy takes a few seconds to love and too much time to hate.
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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!
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There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee.
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How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
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Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.
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Lechery, lechery still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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By-and-by is easily said.
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.
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Thy food is such As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.
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Let's take the instant by the forward top For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them.
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With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.
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So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps.
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A lover goes toward his beloved as enthusiastically as a schoolboy leaving his books, but when he leaves his girlfriend, he feels as miserable as the schoolboy on his way to school. (Act 2, scene 2)
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What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
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Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
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Haply a woman's voice may do some good When articles too nicely urged be stood on.
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Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen Neither in inward worth nor outward fair Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
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