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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
Enough
Shall
Graves
Much
Hurt
Serve
Men
Asks
Wide
Church
Door
Cannot
Doors
Tybalt
Find
Deep
Twill
Wells
Courage
Romeo
Well
Tomorrow
Grave

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Comets importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky And with them scourge the bad revolting stars.
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Men so noble, However faulty, yet should find respect For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty To load a falling man.
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The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.
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Hung be the heavens with black! Yield, day, to night!
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I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes when they are in great danger I recover them.
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O Ceremony, show me but thy worth? What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men?
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Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to th' rooky wood. Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
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All dark and comfortless.
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The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.
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The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
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The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of.
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Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.
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Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
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Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
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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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Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
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I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm.
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We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars as if we were villians by compulsion.
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Farewell, fair cruelty.
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You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.
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