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Stars hide your fires let not light see my black and deep desires: The eyes wink at the hand yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see

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
Done
Hand
Eyes
Wink
Stars
Fires
Eye
Fears
Desire
Hide
Black
Desires
Hands
Deep
Light
Fire

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I love thee none but thee, and thou deservest it
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Take physic, pomp Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them And show the heavens more just.
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I am not mad I would to heaven I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
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Though she be but little, she is fierce!
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The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.
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Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
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I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.
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Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.
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Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
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Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
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And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
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The band that seems to tie their friendship together will be the very strangler of their amity.
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My pride fell with my fortunes.
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Well could he ride, and often men would say, That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes! And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
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You Jig, you amble, and you lisp.
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Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome therefore I will depart unkissed.
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Lovers can do their amorous rites by their own beauties
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If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.
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Be not too tame neither, but let your own Discretion be your tutor suit the action to the word, the word to the action.
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Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.
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