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Romeo: Courage, man the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
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
Church
Door
Cannot
Doors
Tybalt
Find
Deep
Twill
Wells
Courage
Romeo
Well
Tomorrow
Grave
Enough
Shall
Graves
Much
Hurt
Serve
Men
Asks
Wide
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Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear and from the tents The armorers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.
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That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough no more: 'Tis not so sweet as it was before.
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Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
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I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
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Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
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Though Death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
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But like of each thing that in season grows.
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My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
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Man, proud man, drest in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he's most assur d, glassy essence, like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep.
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Put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.
William Shakespeare
They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together.
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Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
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I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
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The will is deaf and hears no heedful friends.
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Direct not him whose way himself will choose 'Tis breath not lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
William Shakespeare
